The King's Slave
by Mysteerya
Summary: Murtagh struggles with his wavering allegiance amidst the dark secrets and schemes of King Galbatorix in the days and weeks shortly after the first battle with Surda. Reviews are desired.
1. Encountering a Secret

_WHAT were you thinking?_

_I wasn't ready._

Thorn veered sharply to the left, preparing to descend upon the Empire's encampment.

_No, Thorn. We're going back to Uru'Baen. Galbatorix wants us to report directly…in person. You know that._

Thorn snorted angrily as he righted himself and glided through the air. _Just send him a mental message that you didn't get them today, but you will tomorrow. You know what will befall us upon our return empty-handed._

_Thorn, he wanted us to return regardless of what happened. _He sighed heavily, his steamy breath rushing through his helm. Annoyed, he slipped it off. The wind cooled his sweaty face and combed through his damp hair.

_We could still go back and revoke your merciful mistake._

_No._

Thorn huffed and the smoke from his nostrils thickened. _I'm not understanding you._ Seething with anger that burned through Murtagh's mind, Thorn pumped his wings hard, jolting Murtagh, as they surged towards the northeast. _This is the second time today I've let you override my discretion._

At dusk the next evening, Thorn and Murtagh glimpsed the palace of Uru'Baen, bathed in a ruddy glow from the setting summer sun. Murtagh's stomach tightened painfully. His heart pounded as it had when he'd come across Eragon on the Burning Plains.

_We don't have to do this_ Thorn entreated. Murtagh sensed fear in his steed.

_Yes we do. Running from him does no good; he always catches you in the end._ Murtagh recalled his journeys with Eragon and his grievous twist of fate at Tronjheim.

As they approached the city and the landing site among the towering steeples and pillars of the palace, Thorn observed tensely, _I see the King is waiting for us._

Murtagh rallied his courage and prepared himself for an unpleasant welcome. Thorn's muscles shivered intermittently.

A moment later, Thorn exclaimed, _He's leaving the landing dock. You don't suppose he'll ride out to meet us...._

Relief slowly quelled their anxious hearts as it became clear that the King had abandoned the landing site and was nowhere to be seen in the air upon ghoulish Shruikan.

A middle-aged attendant, dressed in a badly stained tunic with the Empire's emblem stitched upon the center of the chest, rushed over to meet them from the dark, expansive archway that led into the dragon roost. "My lord Murtagh, King Galbatorix knows of your return. He says you are rest this evening and that he will summon you for a meeting when he is ready."

Murtagh and Thorn were conflicted over whether they should be alarmed or relieved with this news. They bade each other a grim farewell and went their separate ways.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

A phantom lady, draped in a loose gown the color of the King's finest wine slinked along a windowless and deserted corridor. A black cloak, light and sheer as a cobweb, billowed behind her in the stuffy air. It was a thick summer evening and the day's heat seemed to congregate in these poorly ventilated recesses of the palace. A thick plait of wavy hair the color of fertile soil after a nourishing rain hung heavily on her neck. Her skin was dewy with perspiration; not from the heat but from anxiety. She was roaming the palace of Uru'Baen, a forbidden venture.

She halted her steps. A quivering sliver of candle light escaped from a slightly ajar door down the passage. The hall was not deserted as she had thought. She approached the light's source; she had to pass by to return to her quarters. A heavy dark wooden door came into her view, carved with sinisterly intricate patterns. Her heart fluttered anxiously, both curious and fearful. She listened closely for whatever activity might be occurring beyond the unsealed entrance. Silence. The young woman hesitated before peeking through the narrow opening. After a moment's deliberation, she laid her slender hands upon the smooth doorpost. An unusual and ornate bracelet, narrow in width and made of brilliant silver, slid down her slender wrist. Bringing her gaze to the crevice of the door and its frame, she peered into the room. What she saw gave her reason to gasp.

He stood, with his back to her, at the side of his bed several yards away. His battle armor was in a pile beside the bed waiting to be cleaned. The upper back of his black tunic was damp with sweat. A deep and luxurious red caught her eye beside his left leg: the sheath for the sword that he reverently inspected in his hands.

She dared not tarry long; this new Dragon Rider intimidated her, perhaps even more so than the one she was familiar with now. Reason told her to leave but curiosity stayed her.

She was still in the paralyzing grasp of awe when the Rider abruptly sheathed his sword. Panicked, she turned to flee.

Swift as a falcon, he withdrew a hidden dagger as he dashed to the door. He caught her by the wrist, twisting it sharply to submit her will to his. Yanking her inside, he shoved his hostage up against the door, slamming it shut with a thunderous boom. The naked edge of his blade threatened entrance just under her chin. The eyes that glowered at her, brooding and fierce, were more startling than the blade that threatened her life.

They remained motionless for a time observing one another, hoping to ascertain the other's intentions.

Struggling to recover from the shock of finding herself in this thorny situation, she smiled weakly. "I'm sorry to have…startled you. I suppose I deserve this… lurking outside the door of a Rider." The blade did not retreat; it was frightfully keen upon her ivory skin. His eyes were as cold as the blade.

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't kill you?" he asked brusquely, his voice just above a malicious whisper. Adrenaline pulsed through him.

"To kill me would only add to your troubles,"

"Who are you and what do you want?" Keeping his gaze locked on her eyes allowed him to focus on the situation and not on her astonishing beauty.

She pondered his inquiry before replying evasively, "I'll tell you if you agree to answer the same question."

His eyes narrowed in scrutiny and mistrust. "Did King Galbatorix send you?"

"I don't know why you ask for whatever I say, you will doubt."

His glare persisted. "Perhaps. Let me ask you again: _who_ are you and _what_ errand brings you here?"

"Who I am does not matter."

"You must matter, quite significantly, to live in the palace of the King." He glanced down at her dress and was momentarily distracted by the low neckline and the beautiful portion of flesh it framed before returning a wary eye upon her face.

"Perhaps."

Slowly, he removed the dagger from her throat, pondering what to do with her. At length, Murtagh stood aside, allowing her freedom to move about the room but she remained against the darkly polished door. He watched her closely as her eyes quickly explored the interior of his quarters. The room was spacious and well-furnished, luxurious even, but grim. The colors, rose red, blackest ink, and storm-cloud gray were dull as if the life of the colors had been removed and all that remained was its shadow.

"I understand that you fought in the long-awaited battle with Surda. Why have you returned so soon? I cannot imagine it has ended so swiftly." Her voice was soothing, quiet, but a dark and brooding quality hovered over her words.

"I was summoned to attend matters here and prepare for the next battle." He paused before asking impatiently. "You know more about me than I about you. Would you tell me who are you now?"

A delay preceded her reply. "I'm a secret that has heard much about you."

A shiver fluttered through him. Her answer intrigued him as much as her slender figure. "Am I to solve a riddle?" He tried to hide his interest amidst the flattest voice he could muster.

"There is no riddle," she replied simply.

Murtagh blinked hard several times trying to clear his senses. She was enchanting in a way that disconcerted him though he was irresistibly drawn to her. _Is she an elf?_ he wondered nervously. _Some sort of__ goddess or nymph?_

The young woman bowed her head as she slowly approached him. Her heart was racing but she was willing to perform whatever was necessary to realize her single aspiration since she learned of Murtagh becoming a Dragon Rider. It was no consolation to her, however, that she had only ever daydreamed of such an unlikely encounter, and she shivered with apprehension.

Murtagh's intrigue morphed into frustration as he sought to regain control his of senses and it leaked into his tone of voice. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want." She raised jade green eyes, leveling her gaze with his own. A flush of heat overran him.

"I must know your name and intentions," he said somewhat testily as he prepared to invade her consciousness. His focus quickly shifted from extricating himself from this encounter to getting her into his bed.

"As you wish." Perhaps her would turn her away but there was no indication of this. He stood no more than a yard away with his arms crossed over his chest. She noted his wandering gaze; she wished she'd worn something more modest.

He hesitated, her cunning reply and seductive shimmer on her face impeded his focus.

"I serve Galbatorix," the young woman admitted at length, carrying the weight of a contrite confession. Then, in a voice barbed with bitterness, she added, "But he does not suit me." Though her eyes were downcast, he could see furrows of resentment upon her fair brow.

"You're a fool to trust me with such an opinion as yours."

The woman smirked. "Perhaps. But then…you feel as I do. About the King. "

Her words crashed upon him with the force of a tempest driven wave upon an ocean. He recalled the day he vowed his allegiance to Galbatorix in the Ancient language. "If you possess any grain of sense, you'll leave and do everything in your power to rid yourself of your contempt." Then, with wary wonder, "The King is not aware of your disposition?" he asked quietly with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

"No."

Murtagh gazed at her, greatly perplexed. "How? How can he not know? His mind is as sharp as the finest of swords and as unrelenting and vicious as the Ra'zac."

She glowed with amusement and pride but she said nothing. It had been a long time since she was last flattered.

Murtagh chuckled darkly to himself, muttering, "I was afraid of this." He approached her to see her to the door, though the thought crossed his mind to take her to bed with him. "I'asking you to leave. I'm not partial to entertaining strangers."

Relief and panic warred over her conscience. This would be her only opportunity to make a difference. Thinking quickly she asked, "You want to send me away now without knowing the answers to your questions?"

"I don't have any questions," he protested curtly.

"You've become quite the liar," she accused boldly. Guilt burned her now for she accused without solid evidence.

Murtagh smirked, struggling to ignore her words. Words that convicted. "I'm flattered by your attention, maiden, but I haven't the time nor the interest to invest in a relationship at present," he said with searing cynicism.

"What makes you think that's what I desire?"

"What is it then that you seek from me?"

"Just a few answers," she murmured. She looked down as her confidence wavered.

Murtagh, arrested by her beauty, charmed by her demeanor, drew closer to her. He smelled the luxuriant and soft perfume that emanated from her like the glow of a candle. "That depends on the questions." Though it would be easy to succumb to his lust, he feared more to relinquish his control and become vulnerable to this captivating young woman.

"Will you kiss me?" His nearness frightened her and she found it…exhilarating.

They were half a foot apart and his hand was wrapped about her arm. Their eyes were fixed upon one another.

"No," he said more firmly than he felt.

"Why?" she replied gently, placing a soft hand upon his face. He shuddered slightly at her touch; it was foreign to him, the sensation of tender flesh upon tender flesh. "You have suffered much and you have strived for so long without recompense." Her words both enticed and soothed him. Her voice was gentle, honest, and compassionate, everything he was starved for. Her lovely burnished jade eyes relaxed his defenses; she gazed at him with a depth of tenderness he had never known.

His hand followed her gracefully sculpted form. "He would be furious if knew," he said weakly as a last attempt to dissuade both himself and the maiden.

"The King?" She gave him a small smile before placing her cheek beside his and whispered in his ear, "He will never know." All anxiety had melted away in the heat of desire.

"Impossible," he muttered as his other hand explored the curve of her slender neck. A shiver ran down his back as her lips left him a kiss on his cheek.

"No. I will teach you to deflect his intrusion."

He smiled doubtfully at her reply, and abruptly took her in his strong arms. Their faces only inches apart, they waited for some internal signal that would unleash the passion that had been increasing since her arrival.

Murtagh allowed for a moment of hesitation before passing the point of no return. He would enjoy this solitary moment of pleasure after months of discipline and a tortured mind.


	2. Secrets and Seclusion

Murtagh's eyes fluttered open as the thick gray light of a cloudy morning seeped through the line of windows along the north wall of his room. He lay nestled in among the soft luxurious coverlets and fluffy down pillows of his bed, a haze enveloping his mind like the fog that hovered over the ground outside. He had slept deeply and was unable to recall when he had last slumbered so soundly. But the serenity he felt began to ebb. Creeping along the periphery of his memory, edging in slowly, blurry images of the previous night returned to him. He looked to either side of him but there was no trace of the mysterious woman. A smile of relief threatened to appear at the prospect that perhaps those images were from a dream, but the smile was aborted before it could be expressed. A sudden torrent of memories flooded him, too strong and intimate to originate from a mere harmless dream. A feverish flush filled his skin. A curse disguised as a breath escaped from him as he got out of bed, a dedication for the acquisition of yet another weighty burden upon his already beleaguered conscience.

"Do you wake up this ill-tempered every morning?"

Murtagh's heart lurched at the voice that instantly evaporated his morning stupor. His dark eyes darted anxiously to the far corner of the room from whence the voice had originated. The young woman of the night rose from a chair that was half hidden in its shadowy corner, her clothing loose and fluid over her alluring figure. His panic stricken face immediately gave way to a scowl as the second curse word of the morning shot out of his mouth. Despite the pleasures of the previous night, he did not trust her...rather, he did not trust himself in her presence.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, but you needn't fear me." Her tone was firm but gently reassuring; the way a horse charmer soothes an agitated horse.

Murtagh was in no mood to converse with her; he had used her and he was done. "You can go now."

"I will once we discuss our situation," she said evenly though it didn't quite mask her resentment from his insensitivity.

Murtagh chuckled the way one might when watching a terrible performance. "What for? Aren't you content enough to have bedded a Rider?" She made a motion to protest but he overrode her, and taking her by the wrist, for the hand would have been an intimate gesture, he led her to the door. "I thank you for your services but for convenience's sake, the best thing now is to forget it ever happened _with_--" he emphasized 'with' in a voice of authority and a raised admonishing hand, forbidding the young woman who threatened to interrupt, "--the added condition that we never cross paths again."

"You can't mean that." Her eyes glittered with indignation as his words burned painfully upon her dignity.

"I told you last night, before forcing yourself on me, that I have no time to meddle in the lives of girls who seek the thrill of a romantic fling."

Her eyes narrowed in fury. "_Forced_, Murtagh? I think we must have differing opinions of _forced_, because, as I recall, you were very obliging."

"Only because you made yourself impossible to ignore."

"And your prowess as a Dragon Rider wasn't enough to ward me off?"

The already smoldering coals of Murtagh's temper threatened to ignite into an inferno. "This is precisely the sort of thing I do _not_ want to discuss!" he hissed, bringing his face inches from hers. "I _do not_ have the time to bicker over such trivial matters!"

The young woman remained firm though Murtagh perceived the slightest of flinches. "Don't be so blasé, Murtagh. You and I both know that Galbatorix will not regard our… _acquaintance_ as trivially as you seem to think it is. I think we are well agreed that such a memory as we share is not easily repressed or forgotten. Galbatorix will glean it from your mind before the week is out."

"No he won't."

"Really? Then it's only a fanciful rumor that your otherwise impenetrable mind was laid open at the King's last inspection."

"How do you know about that?" he asked fiercely.

"Think about it, Murtagh."

Instead of thinking, he yanked open his door, glowering at her, indicating that she was to exit. He regretted having indulged himself during the night.

"He broke through before and he'll certainly do it again unless you devise a new technique that will fool him completely."

"Ha. A new technique. And just w_ho_ do you think you are to suggest such a thing?" His voice was slightly uneven from impatience and brewing suspician because what she was speaking about was not common knowledge.

She shook her head with a small smile. "Invade my consciousness and I'm sure you'll find some answers."

Murtagh started at the request but he quickly recovered. "No, now get out."

Her resolute countenance challenged him. "Do it."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because why would I want to see inside the mind of a peevish fool?" His reply was sneering but he felt it a better response than what was really going through his mind. His most significant reason for not wishing to penetrate her mind was because of the precious value he ascribed to the privacy of one's mind. Repulsed by the idea that he would compromise his values, he ardently refused to act as unjustly as Galbatorix and the now deceased Twins. Resentment flooded him. What good were his values? They had not protected him from the King. "Very well," he said at last. "I'll grant you your fool's request." She flinched slightly as he entered.

Hollow. Muted images of dull memories. He tarried on the events that led her to work in the palace. Through networking, she landed a position in the palace, which she happily accepted. Murtagh lingered on that a moment as he recalled her words from the previous night: _I serve Galbatorix…but he does not suit me_. He tucked away this bit of information to contemplate later. And now…what did she do at the palace? She seemed to be a housekeeper of sorts, but…his eyes glanced over the woman quickly. Her demeanor was lowly enough but her clothing, her fragrance…she wasn't what she seemed. He moved on, deciding to contemplate that aspect about her at a different time as well. Out of a mere bit of curiosity, and in hopes for perhaps harassing her in the future, he discovered where she resided in the castle. It was a small and modest room located along a rather isolated and nondescript corridor.

Finding nothing more of interest, he withdrew and smirked at her, thinking she was the most idiotic and eccentric character he had ever met. He thought it a shame that a woman of such beauty lacked the intelligence that would compliment her. "Pleased?"

"Are you?"

"Not really because I hate to waste my time."

She smiled slyly, which had an unsettling affect on him. "You should be pleased."

"What for? I've never seen anything so dull." Perhaps if he insulted her enough, she'd go away.

"That is precisely the effect I hoped to achieve."

Murtagh gave her a calculating gaze, becoming more and more certain that the woman was mental and yet…there was something about her that prevented him from accepting her as a fool.

"What you just saw, Murtagh, was a sort of mirage. It's how I fortify my mind against those who intrude."

Murtagh could not stifle a laugh of cruel amusement. Surely she was making all this up, stalling so she didn't have to leave.

She smiled shrewdly and made her way to the still open door. Before crossing the threshold, she turned to him. "You can laugh now, but you won't be when Galbatorix finds out about us." Her eyes lingered on him, a playful and triumphant gleam sparkled in those precious jewel-like green eyes. Satisfied for having the last word, she quietly closed the door behind her.

Murtagh stared where she had stood, bewildered, before laughter seized him again, recounting her words and her searched mind. "Beautiful but a fool." He was certain this infatuated young woman was insane, but after a minute's reflection, he deemed it unlikely and the laughter ceased. The whole matter deeply unsettled him. He realized, with displeasure, that she was coaxing him, cajoling him, manipulating him, and drawing him closer to whatever mystery she guarded.



Marla the handmaid monitored her charge from the corner of her eye as her hand slowly brought the needle upward through the taut cloth of embroidery in her hand. Her lady was clearly not herself today. It was after the midday meal, and they were engaged in menial amusements. The young lady sat rigidly in her chair as her foot tapped in agitation upon the floor as if it were keeping time to music that couldn't be heard. Her needlework awaited attention in her limp hands, lying idly upon her lap. Her jade green eyes were clouded and distant. The handmaid took great pride in her keen abilities of observation and because of this talent, she was a rich source for gossip that was unfortunately more true than false. Her reputation for gossiping talents had found favor with King Galbatorix and it was the primary reason that Galbatorix took her on to be the lady's personal servant.

"There's clearly something on your conscience, my dear." Marla spoke casually and shifted her gaze from the work in her hands.

The young woman's thoughtful countenance quickly cleared and turned her bright, but shifty eyes, signaling deceit, to the maid. "Oh, it's nothing significant. I was just reflecting on the pattern I've chosen for my needlework."

There was a brief pause as the hand maid subtly shook her head in disbelief. "Funny how two years seem so short a time but it's enough to become well acquainted with another's habits."

The young woman smirked at her servant. "Is it really any wonder? You're with me more often than not." The young lady sighed but gave a defeated sort of smile. "I suppose I should give up trying to fool you."

"I don't know why you would want to fool me anyway. I'm the only companion you're allowed."

The young woman bit the lower inner rim of her lip, a nervous idiosyncrasy of hers. The young woman knew her maid was more than just a companion; she reported to Galbatorix. She was aware of the handmaid's vulture-like eyes upon. She hesitated slightly. "It makes for a bit of excitement and tension. Our lives are so dull, you know."

"Ah, believe me, deary, you shouldn't pine away for the acquaintances I've made here in the palace. Trivial, they are." Then, in a hushed tone and leaning towards the lady she added, "Besides, we've got all the tension and excitement we need living right among us."

The lady scrutinized her companion. "Marla, the King doesn't count. We hardly ever see him."

Marla agreed solemnly with a few slow nods of the head. "Certainly, but he's as unpredictable and violent as a volcano."

"You'd better mind what you say," the young woman cautioned, anxiety pooling in her stomach.

"Ah, who knows? He might like the comparison."

The two women shared a friendly smile as they returned to the work in their hands. Marla, however, was still suspicious of her ward. A small mischievous smile stretched the shallow wrinkles around her mouth, deepening the crevasses of age along the corners of her mouth; she was going to keep an extra close watch on her pretty little maiden. The more she reported to the King, the more she was paid.

The young maiden was unaware of her maid's plans for prying. Her mind was preoccupied with Murtagh and all the implications that concerned him and herself. Would she see him again that evening? Would he come find her? Timing was everything; she knew he couldn't be staying any longer than a week or so. She had to win enough of his trust if she was to discuss matters of great importance with him. And her mind trick was not the real issue to be discussed: it was the question of Murtagh's allegiance.



Late in the evening, Murtagh resigned himself to the solitude of his chambers after a day of infuriating practice and encounters with wide-eyed hopeful young females. It wasn't that he didn't like girls. He smiled. Oh yes, he had enjoyed the company of several ladies during his time outside the palace, and, of course, he did have a few flings with the girls in Uru'baen before his first flight from the royal city. Mindful of the past, he took great care to avoid public appearances.

He slumped into a plush armchair. His fingers kneaded the squashy padding of the armrests as his thoughts turned to finding a solution to his problems. None came, of course, because the woman of the previous night kept appearing before his mind's eye, something that had been occurring all day. Was it possible to erase a memory? He would have asked Galbatorix for surely he would know, but now he was no longer in a position to ask. He might be able to hide it for a time, but the King was always able to open his mind as if her were unrolling a scroll. He couldn't even begin to anticipate Galbatorix's reaction when, not if, he would learn of the affair. How long would be able to live like this under the eye of the King? He hoped that the King would show no interest in his love life…but he felt that would be unlikely.

The door to his room swung open slowly, riveting Murtagh's attention. Was it her again?

"Thorn has informed me that you have neglected to interact with him since arriving at the palace."

Murtagh's stomach convulsed as if a hand clamped it in a death grip. He rose and bowed in the direction of the door. "Sire."

The King did not enter but remained a menacing shadow just outside the threshold of Murtagh's room. He would have been imperceptible had it not been for his black eyes that glinted in the candlelight of his room, like pools of burning oil.

"What is your explanation for such insolence?" His voice was as black as coal.

"I was waiting for your summons. I wanted to be available. " He kept his head bowed but spoke firmly yet knowing he offered a terribly weak excuse even though it was part truth.

"A rider's best companion is his dragon. It is reprehensible to ignore a compatriot as valuable as Thorn," the King intoned with chilled civility that Murtagh was somewhat accustomed to. "However, I am flattered to hear of your eagerness to meet with me, though I find it odd for I am beyond displeased with you….I haven't a doubt that you are well aware of that." He paused before continuing. Still, he did not move and Murtagh felt the sweat gather upon the skin of his brow and back. "I did not summon you earlier for I would have slain you in my rage and that would have been most unfortunate indeed. In fact, I am still too upset to discuss the recent fiasco with Surda, but I come to you on behalf of Thorn…." Galbatorix's voice trailed off before asserting with scalding displeasure, "Your mind is barred to me."

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but you arrived without warning--"

Galbatorix raised his hand as a gesture for him to be silent. "Admirable reflexes, Murtagh," mused the King but he had said his name sourly. "But you ought to have an open enough mind to sense the approach and intentions of others as we have practiced time and time again."

"Yes, my lord."

Galbatorix smirked, reveling teeth that gleamed an orange-red in the dim light. He surveyed Murtagh a moment before departing silently from the door.

Murtagh sighed heavily, thankful that theKing did not pry into his mind. As he went to shut the door, he contacted Thorn.

_You betrayed me_, Murtagh accused.

_You feel betrayed? Well, I feel abandoned_," retorted Thorn with a growl, unappreciative of Murtagh's rude intrusion.

_For good reason_.

_Oh? And what has happened between our arrival and this moment that has caused you to spurn me_? queried Thorn crossly.

_Nothing! I—I— I'm just tense. I need some space to myself._

_Well _that_ is of little wonder_, chimed Thorn with the unpleasant ringing tone of sarcasm.

Murtagh remained silent for a moment as a small blob of fear began to painfully crowd his insides. Did Thorn know about last night? _How so?_

_I don't think I need to remind you because I chided you about it on our return to Uru'baen. You disobeyed the King's orders; orders that he believed would've been easy for you._

Murtagh once again slumped into his chair. _Who are you loyal to, Thorn? Me or Galbatorix?_ he asked moodily.

Murtagh sensed some surprise in Thorn as his dragon replied. _You, of course…or rather, as much as is allowed at any rate._

_Then why did you tattle to the King?_

Thorn was affronted by the question and answered obnoxiously, _Two reasons. One: I was concerned about you. Two: the King contacted me first._

Murtagh sighed with some disbelief. He didn't want to carry on the conversation anymore. It only fed that growing blob.

_I'll have you know that I did not say a word about the mercy you granted Eragon and Saphira. I'll leave that for you to explain to Galbatorix since it wasn't any idea of mine and because you went against what I advised._

_Thanks for being so thoughtful_, muttered Murtagh. His temper began to smolder. He was always walking a fine line in his relationships.

Silence settled between them both for a moment.

_You must have done something shamefully embarrassing since our arrival_, observed Thorn with a snicker. _Might I guess?_

_There's no need to. I'll inform you when the time is right_, Murtagh snapped, startled at Thorn's acute perception of his turmoil.

_Ah, so you have done something! Well, if you don't mind my saying so, this secret of yours is dividing us at a time when we should be united. You mustn't think that if I knew your secret it would divide us. It is your insistence on keeping this secret. It's creating a chasm between us and that is something neither one of us can afford._

_Agreed_, Murtagh concurred sadly after a moment of grim reflection. Thorn spoke truly and he missed their camaraderie. _Thorn, please trust me on this. I'll share with you when I feel the time is right._

Thorn was a long time in answering. _I'm not happy but I'll respect your wishes. I only wish that you'll respect mine once in a while._

Murtagh grimaced as Thorn withdrew from him. At length, he began to reconsider the mysterious young woman and how she seemed to have spirited him away from his problems during the night. He decided he would go to her but what he intended to do once he found her, he wasn't yet sure…apart from learning her name.

He sighed heavily; he had to resolve all this as quickly as possible.


	3. Slaves

Murtagh tossed and turned in his bed later that night, his mind too turbulent for sleep to banish the anxiety that prowled within him. His mind drifted back to the previous night; she proved her worth as a numbing balm, completely deadening his senses to the tribulation that engulfed him. However sweet the moment of relief, it was short-lived and inarguably vulgar. As sleep continued to elude him, he took to pacing the space of cold stone floor before his windows, hoping it would distance him from his restless musings.

He paused and stared out into the starlit night. He longed to take off with Thorn and escape from this place of torment. His jaw clenched as a severe expression creased his face. Whatever freedom and independence he gained would be short-lived; Galbatorix would secure him again. Of this he was quite certain. He absentmindedly fingered the window ledge. Perhaps, if he would just ride Thorn for a few hours, his mind would clear…but they were not on the best of terms and it wasn't appealing to make amends now. For all he knew, Thorn could be hunting and Murtagh didn't relish the idea of finding out. He didn't fancy an encounter with Thorn's temper. A profound sense of loneliness stabbed at his heart. Not waiting another moment, he decisively departed his room. He reached into his memory for the brief tour of her mind, seeking where she dwelled and confidently took off in that direction.

Once at the appointed door, he knocked curtly and awaited a reply. None came. Not feeling the least bit discouraged, he turned the handle of the door but the handle did not admit him. Smirking and still overly confident, he muttered an incantation to unlock the door. Opening the door, he greeted with great obnoxiousness, "I hope you don't mind--"

A stack of neatly folded linens halted his speech. He stood there a moment in puzzled silence before humiliation assaulted his pride. His pride only slightly bruised, he shut the door quietly and approached the next available door. He was met with a similar result; this time the closet contained cleaning accoutrements. Not wishing his pride to endure further abuse, he resorted to opening his mind to search out her presence. After some time, he found her. She was on the opposite side of the palace and several floors up. Murtagh found her location odd; a mere servant wouldn't have such a lofty location for living quarters, but then, he had sensed she seemed to be more than just a plain, ordinary servant. His mind squirmed uncomfortably once again at the notion. The location of her presence also seemed oddly familiar and foreboding. He hesitated a mere moment but curiosity won him over and off he went through the dim and deserted passages of the palace.

Low-burning flames flickered in the sconces that lined the deserted the corridors. Murtagh skillfully treaded upon the immaculate stone floor, wary of his heavy boots and the clamor they would make if he was not careful of his steps. Nearing his destination, his dread increased. The path was becoming familiar as he recognized that he was approaching King Galbatorix's chambers. Extremely wary of his situation, he came to a halt. Panic bubbled up within and he retreated as quickly as possible. All he could see was the King's prying, sneer while interrogating him about wandering outside the royal chambers.

A squeal sounded from down the corridor. His panic intensified as he came to a dead halt. At length, and much to his relief, he perceived a gang of whispering and giggling maids, clearly roaming about after palace curfew. Before they could take notice of him in the dim light, he spotted a door just ahead. As he made his dash for cover, he heard heavy footfalls of another servant or perhaps a guard that would issue a reprimand to the young maids.

He threw open the door and flung himself inside, his back pressed up against the door. His heart rushing and breath shaky. The room was dark but moonlight filtered through the only line of windows along one wall of the room. Just then another door opened and the warm light of candles and a fire shafted into the room as a plump silhouette appeared.

"Nefalia, are you back already? I wasn't summoned to fetch you so I …Nefalia?"

Murtagh, acting quickly, ducked down and crouched by the door. Quickly analyzing his surroundings, he scurried over to a corner that contained an unfolded dressing screen.

_What are the odds that I picked someone's bed room?_ he thought impatiently.

"Nefalia?" the woman's voice inquired again and more sharply. The door opened further.

The silhouette of a plump woman muttered to herself, indistinguishable to Murtagh, and turned to leave but did not shut the door behind her. Murtagh peered around the screen, looking for a clean getaway. He sprinted from his hiding place when he heard several voices coming from the other room.

"We might as well draw the bath, girls," he could hear the plump woman say. A few other voices of young maids murmured in agreement and heard them rush out into the corridor. They must've been the same gang of girls from which he had nearly escaped.

Murtagh reached the door but heard several feet rushing past, but they sounded heavier than the maids'. _What is everyone doing this late at night?_ He felt the bristles of irritability.

"Why Nefalia!" he heard the plump woman exclaim. "Back already?"

"Already? I've told you before, Marla, he doesn't make it an all-night ordeal. He's not like most men."

Murtagh leaned motionless upon the door. That voice….

"Well, they do say moderation is best." There was a pause before Marla shot back in defense. "Now don't give me that look, young lady. There are plenty of women who would give anything to be where you are."

"Just get the bath ready," Nefalia replied wearily.

"The water is on its way."

Rage. Murtagh was flooded with that one emotion. He was no simpleton; he put the clues together and came up with an unlikable and repulsive explanation. Vowing to seek some sort of retribution for her ruinous dishonesty, he went to hide behind a large, stuffed armchair sitting by the window, its back to the window. He found a basket of needlework and angrily shoved it aside.

After nearly two hours, Nefalia fell into bed. Her long, wet hair was weaved in a long and intricate braid. Marla extinguished the light and the room was plunged into darkness, its wholeness only permeated by shafts of moonlight sifting in through the windows.

Murtagh waited several long moments, wanting her to get comfortable. His outrage had not abated; he so desperately wanted to avenge himself for her silly and dangerous game. He listened as her breathing slowed. He would have to be careful. A scream would usher in mother-hen Marla. Peeking out from behind the chair, he saw her lying in the bed. She was still awake, staring absently at the wall opposite her bed. Stealthily, he crawled along the floor, inching his way over to her bedside.

Slowly, he kneeled at the bedside. "So you're name is Nefalia and you're the King's mistress." His voice seemed to promise death.

The young woman gasped, jerking her head in his direction. A black specter blocking the moonlight, rushed a swift hand over her mouth, clutching her delicate chin. The hand didn't care that it hurt her.

"I thank you for complicating my life. It was so dull without your meddling in it." He was shaking with rage. His dark face was contorted like the gnarled bark of an ancient tree.

Nefalia could not respond. Even if his hand was not clutching her mouth, she would be speechless. Motionless.

"If you weren't so cozy with Galbatorix, I'd kill you for what you've done to me." He squeezed harder, channeling all his frustration upon the helpless maiden. A muffled moan escaped from under his hand as she began a desperate struggle. He gripped harder. Her hands launched a siege against his arm, pinching and hitting, pushing and tugging. He was strong; she hadn't a chance of overthrowing him.

On his periphery, Murtagh sensed the terror shooting through her. He didn't care. She deserved it. He felt the same terror. The King held him in a similar stance, only figuratively.

At length, she ceased her struggles and gazed helplessly into his face, wide gleaming eyes pleading with him for release.

Bending over her until their noses nearly touch, he glared back at her, eyes cold and menacing. He was frightening but for the briefest moment, Nefalia glimpsed in his eye the anguish of enduring torment.

His hand lingered upon her mouth, its grip loosening slightly. His eyes were unable to withdraw from hers, narrowing as he tried to read what lay behind hers of terror. At long last, he slowly released his grasp. He felt rushing puffs of her warm breath upon his skin. Life. An involuntary shiver cascaded down his spine, tingling the narrow, raised scar across his back.

"Won't you allow me to apologize?" Her voice was soft and light but tense like a lace curtain blowing in the breeze of a summer storm.

He glowered at her, still unable to leave. Aggravatingly perplexed with her power over him and the intensity of his own lust, he growled, "I don't need your apologies or excuses."

"I'm sorry I deceived you but what else was I to do?" she rushed.

They still remained inches apart, their breath roaming over the others face in moist drafts.

"Nothing."

"I had to speak with you."

Murtagh laughed derisively. "_Speak_ with me? The only speaking you did was to lure me to my bed in your arms."

"I had to get your attention somehow. You wouldn't have listened otherwise."

"Oh, of course," he sneered mockingly. "You had to prove to me that we were destined to be together, that you loved me and all that silly romantic nonsense. Well, I've heard it all and--"

"Murtagh, it isn't like that. I'm not like that."

"_Not like that_!" He scrambled over the bed and seized her above the elbows so she couldn't fight him off. "What do you take me for?" he seethed, drawing her into him, forcing her to peer into his vengeful face. He was close to shaking her. "I don't want any part in your stupid fantasy games!"

"Hurt me and the king will hear of it," she threatened.

"Perfect. It's been such a long time since I've endured his wrath. Have you ever been punished by him? It's delightful!"

"Stop it!" Nefalia hissed, her eyes glancing warily at the side door. She wriggled in his grasp.

"I'm sorry you don't like the way I play. You've no one to blame but yourself for that!"

"Why are you serving the King after running from him?" Nefalia blurted. She bravely held her face to his, suddenly bold.

The second bedroom door opened and candlelight feebly prodded the darkness. Murtagh dashed over the bedside farthest from the door, disappearing into the long shadows cast by the flickering light.

"Nefalia? What's the matter here?"

"Nothing, Marla. Just having a bad dream." Her voice was slightly breathless. She clutched her blanket to still her quaking hands.

Marla scrutinized her charge. She came further into the room. "I thought I heard a man's voice."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming yourself?" retorted Nefalia.

Murtagh had to grin; she was quick-witted. He began to maneuver himself back to his old hiding place behind the armchair in the corner.

Paranoid, she hurried over like an owl swooping down on a mouse. Nefalia glanced to where Murtagh had flung himself over the bed.

"There's no one here," explained Nefalia calmly.

Marla's eyes swept over Nefalia's front, checking for anything that might betray she had been with another man.

"Might I remind you, Marla, that there's no chance of me having a lover apart from the King. I'm under your constant supervision and no one else knows about me except yourself and a few of your assistant maids."

Marla, keen on observation, was insulted by her charge's reply. She was certain she had heard a stranger's voice and some sort of commotion. "You can't pull the wool over my eyes, Nefalia," Marla warned.

"Well then I guess you'll just have to move into my bedroom and never sleep a wink."

"Don't get smart with me, young lady!" scolded the old handmaid. Her double chin quivered in her rage. "If anything happens to you that the King wouldn't like, I would be the one suffering the consequences. My job is at stake, my life! Just you keep that in mind, young miss!"

"If you continue talking to me as you are now, I'll be sure to send the King a complaint."

"Ha! You haven't got him wrapped around your finger that tight. He's likely to trust my word over yours."

To this, Nefalia could find no reply. She settled herself down into her pillows and let out an exasperated sigh.

Marla huffed triumphantlyand left the room.

Murtagh raised his head over the bedside and peered at Nefalia. "I see you have a nursemaid."

Nefalia shot her head in his direction, eyes gleaming in the moonlight with fury. "Get out!" she hissed.

"No. I feel inclined to stay. You got yourself into this mess and it'll be fun watching you try to get out of it."

"How did you find me anyway? I was sure I --"

"With the best luck I've had in a long time." He was mesmerized. The moonlight made her smooth ivory skin iridescent. Her hair was like the finest sheets of silk. Her lips like that of rose petals.

"That's not much of an answer," she said at length.

"Is it really an answer that you want?" He placed himself on the bed facing her, leaving only about a hand-width or so between them.

She looked down, the loose strands of her hair framing her face, and gazed at her fidgeting hands upon the coverlet. "Yes," she said softly. He placed his own hand amidst her own, gently stroking the fingers of her hand.

"You confuse me," she said.

"Likewise," he mumbled as his hand wandered to her wrist and forearm. He cast his eyes upon her, wild with lust and cold with indifference. He lifted her hand, brought it before his mouth, and brushed his lips over her soft, fragrant skin.

"I confuse you?"

Murtagh felt some impatience. Either she wasn't receiving his intentions or she was resisting him. "No." He closed the gap between them. "You help me forget I'm confused."

"There's wine for that." She withdrew her hand.

"Galbatorix wouldn't stand for that. You can't hide drunkenness."

"But you can hide a love affair?"

He chuckled. "Was I that terrible last night?" he murmured, drawing himself closer to her still.

"That's personal and I won't answer."

"It's for your…" He brushed his lips over her satin cheek. "Personal benefit."

Their lips met for a moment. She did not pull away and he pressed forward. She eased down against her pillows before him as he covered her. They could feel the other's breath upon their faces.

"You know my secret yet you still dare take what isn't yours?" she whispered as he fit his face to her neck, nuzzling as he inhaled her essence.

He raised his head, and sweeping aside the gentle strands of hair from her eyes, he said, "Galbatorix has provided me with many things. Why shouldn't he provide a woman for me as well?"

"His own prized slave?"

"Slaves belong with other slaves." His eyes clouded with bitterness and slightly pulled away from her. "We serve the same master. If he strictly wanted you for himself, he would've done a better job of keeping you out of my reach." He cupped her face in his hands, as if to lock her in his power. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips. His fingers led the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders.

She stonily endured his entreaties before succumbing to him though she resented it. She feared she may have gambled too high and lost everything.



Before dawn's light reached the pinnacle of the palace's highest tower, Murtagh had returned to his chambers. Nefalia woke frequently since Murtagh's departure, gleaming trails of tears on her face. She was afraid. She was ashamed. Rolling onto her back and propped up against her many pillows, she stared through the bleak gray light that shrouded the room. Her fingers listlessly fidgeted with the edge of her bed sheets. If he came back, perhaps she would be able to speak to him then, but she hated the idea of how painstakingly slow it was taking her to break his outer shell. There simply wasn't enough time. She couldn't keep her secret from the King for too long; it weighed too heavily upon her. It weighed too heavily upon Murtagh.

Something struck her from within, sharply and abruptly. She gasped in surprise at the pain as her hand rushed over her lower abdomen. Sweat came forth over her as she remembered her time with the King the night before. What he had said, with a demonic smile, was surely meant only to frighten her. After a long moment, the sensation faded away. She sighed deeply, lamenting that escape was not possible.

Murtagh had slept more soundly than Nefalia but he found himself haunted by what he had done last night but more by what he had learned.

Nefalia was Galbatorix's mistress. And he had…loved her. Two nights. The gravity of the situation seized him in a death grip. He had been playing with fire. He made contact with the flames. Now he was in that peculiar moment where the pain came far behind the realization that harm had been done. The pain would come from the King and it was only a matter of time. If Galbatorix didn't find out from him, it would be from her.

Rage sprung him out of bed at the first hint of dawn's light. It was all her fault that this was happening. How stupid was she? He saw her pretty face but it wasn't stupid. Did he blame her or did he blame himself? He didn't know. He got dressed quickly and left his room.

He raced to the dragon roost as he called out for Thorn.

_I'm sleeping. What is it that you want?_

_Let's fly._

_I hope we do more than that, like telling me what's on your mind, otherwise I'd rather sleep._

Murtagh burst into the roost. It was warm and clean. Incense hung in the air. Dragons were pampered here. Thorn was sprawled on his pillow bed, twice his size and as ornately decorated as his head, in a private nook. He lazily watching Murtagh's entrance without lifting his head.

Murtagh was aware of Galbatorix's dragon, black as a cave's heart and blending invisibly with the shadows of dawn. A shudder rushed down him as he caught sight of a golden eye that flicked open, the black slit of iris scrutinizing him as he passed.

_Please don't make a scene, Thorn, in front of Shruikan._

Thorn's body shuddered with a chuckle, steam rising into the air from his nostrils.

_You speak to me as though I were your child in your parents' house_. Thorn's voice was not kind. A vicious grin was displayed for Murtagh's annoyance.

_I swear I'll make our outing worthwhile._

Thorn gazed lazily, haughtily, at Murtagh who stood before him. He still did not move.

Shruikan shifted, lifting his massive, sinister head, watching them intently.

_You complain that I don't ever see you and now that I'm here, you don't want me._

Thorn snapped his jaws at Murtagh, both in jest and irritation._ Your timing is despicable._ Thorn yawned and slowly got to his feet and stretched out each leg and his neck and ended with a few flaps of the wings. Murtagh watched on impatiently. _Well, I suppose you must have something important to say to rouse me this early...and by the looks of it, it's so important that it's roused you as well. In fact…_Thorn lowered his head to gaze more closely at his Rider. _It looks as though you haven't slept much at all._

Shruikan studied Murtagh most closely and Murtagh could feel it. He glanced at the giant shadow that was undoubtedly grinning slyly in the gloom.

A morning breeze drifted into the den through the large open entrance, stirring up some stray straw, swirling it around their feet.

Murtagh quickly fitted Thorn with the saddle and they set off into the misty morning. Much to Murtagh's relief, Thorn's disposition was lifting. Thorn drifted and glided through the air and waited for Murtagh to pour out his troubles and cares.

_I owe you an apology, Thorn_, _but I know it's insufficient._

_It's better than not apologizing._

_Well, I'm sorry I've...I don't know what the word is..._

_For ignoring me?_

_Alright. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you._

_Very well. I suppose I should be more understanding even though you've never behaved like this before._

A quiet moment passed. The soft air rushed over their skin, and it comforted them both.

_Murtagh,_ Thorn began carefully, modestly as though he were ashamed. _We're not as close as I thought._

_I know. I haven't been honest with you._ Murtagh then launched into his doubts since his last encounter with Eragon and concluded with his meeting with Nefalia though he chose not to reveal her name or relation to the King. At the end, Murtagh felt relieved to have released all his thoughts and feelings to another but then he waited nervously for Thorn's reply which was a long time in coming.

_You're condemning yourself,_ Thorn assessed gravely.

Murtagh made no reply

_The girl isn't anything to be concerned about as long as she doesn't become a distraction. Your father had one, too. But why should you doubt where destiny has placed you… I can't believe you're actually considering a word that whelp, Eragon, said back on the Burning Plains. _This final phrase was punctuated with a bitter growl.

Murtagh grinned darkly.

_What do you anticipate Eragon will do with the tidings you brought about his heritage?_ Thorn asked after a moment. His query was riddled with hubris and despise.

Murtagh thought back on his own reaction upon receiving word Eragon was his brother. Eragon, the country bumpkin, the naive one, the upright one, the "shadeslayer," …the scarless one. The one his mother had ferried away to safety. Resentment and self-pity channeled through him like a raging river.

_Murtagh?_

_Hmm?_

_Stop moping. It's unbecoming of you, _Thorn snickered.

_I appreciate your sympathy._

_Why should I show sympathy for the one who has named me Thorn?_

_Alright, now you're just being plain cruel._

_It's a cruel world._

Murtagh couldn't stand it. Granting Eragon's escape had farther reaching consequences than he had anticipated. It had ruined his bond with Thorn. The realization struck him that he was alone in this, which wasn't anything new, but it stung more than before. The first year had been wonderful with Thorn, and now it seemed to be unraveling all because of granting his brother's freedom. Regret, strong and bitter, grated upon his conscience. Upon their return to the palace, instead of feeling invigorated and refreshed, he was depleted and wrapped in hopeless. Jealousy of Eragon began coiling about him, binding him to disaster.


	4. Madness in Regret

Lightning cracked and thunder roared after it as a summer storm dumped its vengeance of rain and hail upon the city of Uru'Baen. A whipping wind coursed through the innumerable streets and alley ways of the royal city. The clamor outside drowned out most of the shrieking emanating from the throne room. Galbatorix's fury had been so great, and his punishment most severe, that Murtagh passed out of consciousness and had to be carted back to his chambers. Meanwhile, Thorn endured a similar fate at the discretion of Shruikan.

It was hours before Murtagh awoke. The rain streamed down the windows, distorting the view of the world beyond. Numb. Exhaustion. Galbatorix's punishments reflected his wealth of knowledge of the ancient language.

_Thorn?_ Murtagh called out weakly.

No answer. Murtagh tried again.

_What?_ Thorn snipped.

Murtagh hesitated. _I…I'm sorry you didn't escape the consequences of my actions._

Thorn huffed. _Just you keep that in mind next time you choose to play the tragic hero._ He paused. _Besides, it was nothing compared to what happened to you. I almost—_Thorn stopped short. Rage was overtaking his ability to speak. _I almost broke free of Shruikan to storm the throne room. The severity of your punishment was almost more than I could bear to witness._

Murtagh was touched. _I can't imagine what would've happened if you had._

_That's why I didn't._ Thorn paused. _You're strength is nearly depleted. Allow me to replenish you._

_Thank you, Thorn._ Murtagh sighed heavily as he felt the soft welcoming tingle that accompanied the reception of energy.

_Thorn, why did you hatch for me?_

_You know the answer_, Thorn replied begrudgingly.

_Perhaps._

_There are forces in this world that cannot be resisted_,Thorn replied firmly, his tone communicating that he wouldn't answer any further. _You ought to know that better than anyone else_.

Murtagh sighed deeply. He felt so heavy, so dirty and used. Helpless. He felt calluses developing on his heart and there was no salve to alleviate the chaffing guilt of what he had become and what he would become at Galbatorix's command. Thorn was the closest source of comfort; they were bound together in slavery to the King, but the dragon was no source of hope. His heart ached as if he were an old man working heavy labor. Thorn was sensitive to his Rider's emotions.

_We mustn't give up hope, Murtagh._

Murtagh shrugged off his companion's words of solace because he found no solace in them. Thorn's words were hollow; noble but vague. His hands clenched into hard fists as he allowed his thoughts to be consumed of jealousies and contempt for his brother. Eragon had betrayed him; he had tried to coerce him to commit suicide and when he had refused, had tried to kill him. His fists were clenched so hard that the stubs of his finger nails were entering the skin of his palms. Regret. Bitter regret. It ate at him like maggots working through a loaf of bread. He should never have allowed him to get away. Showing mercy had cursed him to deeper depths of condemnation.

_Thorn, we must right our wrong. _

_Well, the King will be pleased to hear that._

Murtagh's heart swelled with soured relief. He would regain the King's favor. He would�delight in the suffering that Eragon would endure at the hands of Galbatorix. Why shouldn't the sons of Morzan work together with their father's friend of yesteryear?

Proud that he had finally decided on a course of action that distracted him from his imprisoned conscience and savagely tortured heart, he stalked out of his room in order to prepare for his venture. As the first order of business, he would pay a visit to Nefalia. He was in a twisted place and it reflected in the smile on his grim face: serve the King while vandalizing his secret possession. It seemed to him that it was�his only means of rebellion.

Nefalia was reclined in the chair by the window; the one Murtagh had hidden behind the other night. It was toward sunset and the gilded light of the summer sun was the only color on her pallid cheeks. Weariness plagued her all day and would not be appeased with nourishment or rest. Marla had kept a close eye on her, waiting for a fever to appear but it never came.

Marla bustled in through the door, a tray in hand with a bowl of steaming soup. "I've sent word to the King just before getting your supper. I'm worried and you know, if I'm worried then King Galbatorix wants to know. He's got a tender side, he does."

"Mhm," Nefalia acknowledged as disgust pierced her stomach.

Marla set the tray on a round table, kept company by two chairs, located across the room and then hurried over to Nefalia. "Still not feeling any better?"

Nefalia shook her head slowly. Marla laid a hand upon the brow of her charge. "Hmm. Still no fever. How queer." She stepped back, crossed her arms and studied Nefalia as if she were appraising a chicken at market. Her thick dark eyebrows hovered low over her drab gray eyes. "Nefalia, I suspect that perhaps you're pregnant."

Whatever color had resided in Nefalia's cheeks fled.

"Of course, I don't think it properly explains your chronic fatigue. Well….Perhaps the King will take you as his queen if what I suspect is true. The gods know he could use a gentle woman like you by his side and a child on his knee. A man of his age ought to be settling down."

Nefalia opened her mouth to express dismay at Marla's conjecture, but then thought better of it. Again, she thought of the other night when she had been with the King. Surely what he had spoken of was impossible.

"Now, excuse me, dear, but I've got to contact the King about this. Oh, and don't forget, your dinner is on the table" Marla hurried out of the room.

Nefalia's empty stomach twisted and pulled. She rose to her feet and stood by the window but she could not bring her gaze to look upon the beauty of the evening. A tear trailed down her pale cheek, as her hand rested upon her discomfited stomach. Moments later, the door swung open of its own accord, revealing the intruder that commanded it. Murtagh entered and the door shut behind him. His eyes were fixed greedily upon her.

Stunned, she remained speechless and rooted where she stood. He was menacing to behold.

He came right up to her, taking her shoulders in his hands, and glared into her face.

Her legs began to shake. "No," she begged in a whisper, shaking her head in fear. "No, no. You must go!"

He pulled her into him, a solid body of strength and power, and pushed his lips on hers, savoring them.

She pushed against him but he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed to fulfill his insatiable lust. Another stabbing blow to kill his wretched heart and silence his conscience forever.

She cried. Hard. Robbed of all dignity and suffering from the pain that pulsed within her. She struggled only to find that she was robbed of all control of her limbs; magic. He ignored her feelings. Once satisfied, he departed, his frame a dark and tormented figure treading across the room and out the door. It had only been a short while, but it felt much longer to both of them.

Once she recovered her composure, she dashed out of bed, and straightened the bed cloths. She rushed into the bath chamber. There was no hot water available so she used water that was room temperature. Knowing that time was short, she hurried through it just to freshen her appearance. She took up her old clothes and found them unsatisfactory to wear. It was ripped at the shoulder and collar. She threw on her robe and discarded the ruined dress behind the chair in the corner. She shed the robe and thrust on her nightdress, got back into the robe, and finally settled back into her chair. She marveled that she had found the energy to do it all. Now she had to summon what remained of her strength to banish her fear and all the hurt and confusion because she suspected that the King would see her as a result of Marla's news. Exhaustion preyed upon her as darkness swallowed the room.

A pair of footsteps halted outside her door. She tried to stand but found she no longer possessed the energy to do so. Her vision was blurring. She could just make out the figure of Marla as she followed behind the tall and imposing figure of Galbatorix. Tiny shivers trailed over her at his appearance.

Instantly, Galbatorix was at her side, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, feeling for her pulse. His face remained stoic except that his black eyes flickered with an instant of panic before switching to irritation. Then, taking her hand in his hand marked with the gedwey ignasia, he sent invigorating energy into her body. Nefalia jolted at the injection, horror and shock racing through, staring in disbelief at the king. "Relax," he commanded quietly, without looking at her. He reached into a pocket within his black and gold embroidered tunic, procuring a necklace. A small pendant of a radiant clear gem hung on a thin elegant chain of fine silver. He unclasped the ends, draped it over her neck, the stone surprisingly warm compared to the chain, and clasped the ends together and muttered something quickly in a language that was foreign to her ears.

He turned his gaze to Marla. She curtsied hurriedly. "It is as you suspected. Thank you for informing me of your suspicions." Galbatorix clutched Nefalia's shoulder and bent down to look into her face and smiled, a smile that communicated many things: arrogance, satisfaction, and greed. "You didn't believe me."

As he left her side, Galbatorix motioned for Marla to follow him. "I have new orders for you regarding Nefalia."


	5. Galbatorix the Omnipotent

"I am ready to retrieve Eragon and his dragon." Murtagh's words, calmly spoken, filtered through the thick summer air in Galbatorix's study. The large windows were thrown open to entice a cooling breeze.

The king, who was leaning over a thick round wooden table, glanced up from battle plans that were splayed out before him. Galbatorix's black orbs alighted upon Murtagh. Even in the stifling air, the gaze sent a chill scampering over the repressed apprentice. "Are you?"

The king strolled over to Murtagh, hands clasped behind his back, and rooted himself within inches of his puppet Rider. Murtagh could make out every faintly emerging wrinkle, every scar, and every fiber that quivered with suppressed rage. Murtagh stood his ground but lowered his eyes.

"I do not think you are ready, Murtagh," Galbatorix said in a voice that belittled his apprentice. "I will be taking no more chances with you."

Murtagh's stomach fluttered.

The king began to pace around Murtagh in a tight circle, like a beast cornering its prey. His highly polished leather boots of Urgal hide creaked with each step. "You ran away when I first bestowed on you a mighty undertaking. You fought my soldiers at Tronjheim. You resisted me and the Twins upon your return home." He paused and stood just behind Murtagh's left shoulder, his voice softening when he resumed his speech. "And then Thorn hatched for you. I had never seen you so… enthusiastic about your lot in life. I thought you had finally become as a son to me. You have learned well…but I should have been more careful." Galbatorix's voice hardened and he resumed his circling gait. "Shruikan discovered you and that red dragon of yours were conspiring against me. You remember what happened after that, don't you?" Galbatorix stopped behind Murtagh once more, whispering with venom meant to produce humiliation. "I made you both swear unyielding loyalty to me. I had hoped I wouldn't have to resort to such practices, but you left me with no choice. I thought that would have sealed you forever in my services, but _clearly_ it wasn't enough. Eragon and Saphira are not here." Galbatorix walked around to face Murtagh. "And as if you haven't spited me enough, I've come to learn that you've been with my mistress," he hissed dangerously. "Now you have the audacity to tell me that you are _ready_ to do what you failed to do!" Galbatorix was seething with rage and his mighty hand grasped the collar of Murtagh's shirt, popping several threads. "Don't you realize that every day your cursed brother is getting stronger and prolonging a war that should have ended in one day!" A bit of spittle landed on Murtagh's nose and cheek. "I CANNOT TRUST YOU!" he bellowed and threw Murtagh away from him.

Murtagh stumbled, but regained his balance. He let the violent tide of Galbatorix rush over him for what else could he do? Smart answers and protestations would only deteriorate his standing with the enraged king.

Galbatorix stared long and hard at Murtagh, letting his acidic words seep into him. Then, leering, he delivered, "You have been a grave disappointment. Your father, and I loathe to give him that title considering the vermin his seed produced….Morzan, would have been greatly shamed to see what has become of his offspring. I should have killed you when he had failed to do so himself, but I was _merciful_." He paused a moment, looking away as if trying to decide what to do next, and then raised a menacing face to Murtagh. "Well, I now see that if I want something done, I must do it myself. But why do that when I can bend and twist you to my every whim?" and the king muttered Murtagh's true name. A feeling of detachment came over him as his panicking mind, squealing in protest, became strangely muted. Galbatorix's orders, in the ancient language, came echoing to him. It was the order to bring back Eragon and Saphira by whatever means necessary. Murtagh viciously fought against it; it was futile. The King's power was so great at smashing his resistance that a splitting headache tore through his head. When the incantation was done, and the order permanently bestowed, Murtagh dropped to the floor, exhausted and grieving for the further loss of his freedom. Galbatorix stared at him with cruel eyes. "Since you clearly cannot make the correct decisions on your own, I must make them for you. It is a fate you have brought upon yourself."

Anger burned in Murtagh like a blistering sunburn. He had foolishly hoped the King would grant him a second chance without some form of retribution; Galbatorix was opposed to forgiveness unless he himself reaped some sort of benefit from it.

Galbatorix stooped down to peer into Murtagh's tortured face. "We will speak tomorrow concerning your mission." Standing, he limply waved his hand, signaling the heap of a cursed and broken young man to depart.

Murtagh found his feet as he fought his way through a haze of disbelief and the lingering potency of the king's presence. His head still pounded. Sounds were muffled and distant. His sight wavered in and out of focus, almost as if he had had too much to drink. Stumbling, he exited the throne room, head hung in despair. Across from the throne room doors was a wide window, framed by skillfully sculpted images of dragons and their riders as they fought sinister looking creatures and snarling Urgals. Huddled clusters of helpless peasants looked upon the dragons and riders with exaggerated admiration. The view contained in the foreground a mosaic of roofs that crowned the city buildings. Beyond the city was the patchwork of farm fields and pastures with the wilderness stretching out to a boundless world. Murtagh absently observed the view. Knowledge of himself, of what he valued, was slipping from him. Exhaustion pressed for him to slumber; the energy used to stave off the king had nearly depleted his resources. Numbly, he staggered off to his chambers.

Yet, with each scuffling step, his mind cleared; his bowed head slowly righted itself. A frenzied wildness swathed with insane jealousy coursed through him, replacing his weariness. He stalked off down the corridor. Fellow passer-bys halted in their steps as he passed. The face of the son of Morzan was terrible to behold. The older servants shuddered, remembering the tales their parents had told them of the days when Morzan himself had prowled the halls of the palace.

Instead of taking the corridor to his chambers, he headed towards the training hall. He entered, picking up a rather blunt sword off a nearby rack. The master of the room, who had been flirting with a palace maid in a poorly lit corner close to the door, watched Murtagh intently as he passed to the back of the cavernous chamber. Glaring sunlight and hot air streamed in through the windows. Murtagh halted before a line of straw-stuffed dummies strung up like a dead men on the gallows but with the feet anchored to the floor. He raised the sword and slowly went through a basic warm up. He paused. Then, with the speed and force of a raging river, the sword flashed in a blur, the blade refracting rays of sunlight throughout the room and whispering viciously in the thick summer air. The dull blade severed the burlap strands of the straw filled dummy. Sprigs of straw flew up into the air. With every thrust and hit, Murtagh felt the frustration slither away. Moments later, the sword fell upon the floor with a resounding clatter. The dummy no longer existed. Shredded patches of burlap and minced pieces of straw littered the floor. Murtagh swiped his wrist across his brow that was crowned with glistening perspiration. Invigorated but calm, he turned around. The instructor's mouth was agape; his lover cowered behind his back though her wide eyes shone with lustful admiration.

"That…that was very fine work, Master Murtagh," the instructor stammered.

Murtagh replied with a blank face, but with eyes ablaze. He was just about to exit when he turned around to look back at his handy work. The silence was pressing upon all present. It scampered away at the sudden dark laughter that emitted from the young Rider. Grinning maliciously, he stormed out and made his way to the dragon roost. He imagined Eragon as the straw dummy back on that stone slab on the Burning Plains.

The doors to the dragon den slammed open, banging with such force that they clanged off the stone walls and flung wildly back towards the center in retaliation at the forceful intruder. Murtagh muttered a few indistinguishable words and doors instantly halted, allowing him to pass in peace.

Thorn was finishing a meal but paused as he eyed his hot-tempered Rider. Dark red blood dripped down his chin, drizzling the floor with sinister patterns.

Shruikan snorted derisively at Murtagh as he passed. Murtagh tossed a mean glance at the black dragon.

_It's done,_ Murtagh announced to his dragon.

Thorn surveyed his companion worriedly, but narrowed his eyes to hide his concern. _You didn't have to come here to tell me. My fellow den mate has already informed me._

_What's wrong with a friendly visit? _Murtagh snapped.

_What's friendly about it?_ retorted Thorn.

Murtagh ignored the question and turned to Shruikan. Aloud, he said, "Train Thorn for combat. He's smaller than Saphira, so he'll be faster. Teach him a few tricks." Sneering and insulted with Murtagh's surly manners, Shruikan began to turn away. "Please," Murtagh added in a growl that wasn't all that different from Thorn's.

Shruikan returned his wicked eyes upon the young man and brought them within inches of his face. Murtagh could feel the heat radiating off of Shruikan. The black dragon gave one nod as he pulled away but not before displaying a snarling victorious grin to Murtagh.


	6. Paying the Price

It was a dank night in Uru'baen. A stifling mass of moist air had settled upon the royal city. The light of the moon sifted through the thick vapor, casting pale milky light into dark shadows. Crickets played for the moon and stars as the citizens of Uru'baen listlessly attempted to sleep in their sticky skins.

Those living in the palace were not exempt from the uncomfortable summer night.

After nightfall, Murtagh's frenzied rage had abated and his mind cleared, like the wispy clouds abandoning the moon outside his window. His troubles paraded around his head, pleading with him for resolution. Nefalia's fair face crossed his mind. He was lonely, but not for physical intimacy. He yearned for something more stable; something less tangible than flesh but just as fulfilling.

He wondered why he thought Nefalia deserved his weighty heart over Thorn. He reflected upon the first night he had seen the young woman and then the following evening. It was not immediately obvious, but when he gave it more attention, he was able to discern that there was indeed some kind of connection between them. Some kind of camaraderie. He had to know more of her, of the bond…. He departed from his room, heart pounding. He would have to convince her that all he wanted was a listening ear.

His mind searched for the words to make a proper and honest apology as he made the remaining steps to Nefalia's rooms. It proved a difficult task. Was he really sorry? Not absolutely, but he knew enough about integrity and dignity; what remained of his conscience insisted that he repair the twisted relationship.

_Why not come see me instead?_

Murtagh jumped at Thorn's sudden intrusion.

_Because I'd like a change in company._

The dragon growled, _You're looking for that dame you mentioned to me, aren't you?_

_Why do you have to know?_

_Why do you have to hide it?_

_Because you wouldn't understand. _Murtagh sensed the hurt and dismay that trickled through Thorn's inflamed temper.

_What wouldn't I understand?_

_She's human, you idiot! You're not._

Thorn was stunned into silence. Then, quietly, in a dissonant voice of resentment and pity, _Shruikan took pleasure to inform me of where you would rather spend your time. You failed to mention that she was close to the King._

Murtagh started to leave.

_Don't tell me you're going to her now! She's clearly out of your reach._

_Fine, I __**won't**__ tell you._

Thorn roared so loudly in his head with such rage that Murtagh stumbled against a wall.

_Jealous_, Murtagh accused as he regained his balance and proceeded.

_Fool_, Thorn snarled.

_Just drop it, will you?! I owe her an apology. _He continued his journey to the King's quarters.

_I hope I'm next on your list of apologies._

Murtagh ignored the quip.

_What do you think you're going to do once you reach her? What if King Galbatorix is with her now? Oh, __**why **__did you get involved with her?_

Murtagh didn't answer straight away. _She told me about a mind trick that I've never heard about. I want to know if there's any truth to her words._

_And you believed her? She probably just wanted to impress you._

_Thorn, there's something to what she said…There's something about her…._ _She knows things that the King might not even know. And she wants to tell me. I can just sense it._

_What could she know that the king doesn't?_

_I've wondered that, too, but she's confident. She's…she's…I can't put her out of my mind._

Thorn began to chuckle. _Well, you're going to have to forget her or you're going to get distracted and destroy what remains of your sad and pathetic life._

_I'm not sad and pathetic._

_Oh, that's right. That describes Eragon. You're…well, I shouldn't mention it…a coward and a foolish one at that._

Murtagh stiffened. _Did you call me a coward?_

_If you didn't catch it the first time, I won't bother repeating it._

_See? This is why I'd rather be with her than with you._

Thorn softened. _Let her go, Murtagh._

_I'm sorry, Thorn, but I can't do that…at least not yet._ And Murtagh sealed his mind from the dragon.

* * *

Nefalia wandered aimlessly about the large, ornate room. The smooth stone floor was cool beneath her bare feet, offering some relief from the heat that had collected itself in the room. Perspiration was gathering on her neck and brow. Her thoughts would not allow her to visit with peace; she was in the royal bedchambers. She had been there for hours and nothing had been said or done. _Perhaps Marla is right, _she thought. _What if he really does wish to wed me?_ She shuddered at the thought as her hand reached up to the warm diamond-like stone that crowned the base of her neck. She had tried to remove it before bed but she could not work the clasp. Marla herself had tried to remove it; her efforts had proved futile as well. She refused to consider the very possible connection between her improved health and energy with the necklace; it was too mysterious.

Galbatorix sat in a chair at the center of the sprawling room. Watching her. A dagger rested in one of his thick and scarred hands. A faint snarl creased his stoic face.

Nefalia stared at the menace before her. It frightened her that he did nothing else but stalk her with his eyes.

But now he rose slowly, regally. He strolled over to her side. The blade of the dagger glittered in the flickering light of the candles. He studied it, admiring its malicious gleam and merciless point before sheathing it at his side.

"I hope you do not object to your new arrangement. Considering your condition, I prefer to have you under my constant surveillance."

Nefalia's heart beat harder at his words. "What about--"

"Marla will still attend you when I cannot." He grinned at her. "Nevertheless, you will be seeing very little of her."

"What for? She's been a perfect servant."

He shook his head slightly, smiling smugly. "Not quite."

"What was her offense?"

"She was not nearly as _insightful_ as I had hoped." He touched her cheek with a finger that resembled tenderness but clearly contained malice. "Her fault placed you at great risk." The tone of his voice was not honest and his eyes twinkled with both glee and rage at once. It filled her with nauseating suspicion. He continued to stare her down as his eyes darkened. "My mercy has been tested to the breaking point 'Falia. I must find new ways of…_expressing_ my frustrations. Disposing Marla from my services is just one of those ways." He smiled sinisterly at her. "There is a price to pay for recklessness." His smile closely resembled a grimace. "And since you are…in a delicate way, I wish not to harm you bodily."

"You, Sire, wish to harm to me?"

Galbatorix leaned in closer to her. His thin robe of black silk and gold interweave matched the shimmer in his eyes. The folds of his robe parted slightly at the top, revealing a firm and bulky chest that bore a sparse patch of ash-gray hair and was marked by several stray scars. His glare narrowed and she felt a quick, sharp tug on her hair. She seized his arm, struggling to free herself, but her head was kept firmly down. Resistance was futile. A jagged jerking motion passed from the King's grip down to her neck and a sound like that of fabric catching and tearing on a sharpened edge filled the room. Several chunks of her hair fell to the floor. The steadfast grip disappeared. Righting herself, she saw the dagger in one hand and a large swath of her hair in the other. Her hand rushed to what remained of her shorn locks; it only reached the top of her shoulders.

"You have broken my confidence," he stated simply. "Surely you did not think I would over look such an offense." He stared at her with a horrible gaze. "I had the luxury of perusing your mind the other evening when you were feeling faint. It confirmed what I learned when I went through Murtagh's mind after punishing him for a different offense." He snarled at her as he ruffled a hand through her shortened hair. "This is only a small price to pay for your deception and disloyalty." He turned his back to her and walked to the door. "If you choose to wander around this evening, you won't get very far." He snarled at her as he extinguished the lights and exited his chambers. She watched him depart as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

* * *

A/N: Just wanna thank you for reading this far. If you are really interested in this story and want to know what's coming next, please see my bio page. It contains a brief summary of each chapter, posted and not posted. Thanks again for reading!


	7. A Talent for Deceit

Murtagh stood before the door of Galbatorix's bed chambers. He sensed Nefalia was within, and fortunately for him, Galbatorix was absent. He paced outside the door a moment, contemplating how to announce himself. _This is more trouble than it's worth_, he thought, thinking of the five guards he had to put out as he approached Galbatorix's lair. But it was that cursed force called curiosity that kept him from turning around…as well as a thirst for going behind Galbatorix's back.

Finding his resolve, he opened the door. He supposed he could have knocked but he didn't want to be too polite.

The room was dark. Only a sliver of moonlight slanting in from the windows across the cavernous expanse of the room silhouetted Nefalia. She stood before the windows, gazing outwardly to some lost and distant time and place. She did not hear him enter. If there was one thing Murtagh had mastered in his life, it was stealth.

Murtagh felt his courage falter. "Ah-em, Nefallia?" _Why does it always sound better in my head?_

Nefalia whirled around in surprise. When she recognized him, her face was filled with confusion and apprehension. "This is really unwise of you. I thought you--"

"Had more sense? I usually do, but there are times when I'd rather live without it."

She did not reply. She merely viewed him with scrutiny. "I think you should go."

"I think I should stay a while and then go."

"I don't know who is more stubborn. You or Galbatorix our king."

"Look, I know I…we, don't have a lot of time, but just let me…"

"No."

"I won't _do_ anything. But will you let me _say_ something?"

She studied his face. He had wandered into the room slowly and the reflected moonlight reached his face. His features were softer than she had seen them. "Saying is doing," she said cooly. "Say what you will and go, but it won't change what I think of you."

"I would just like to…to apologize for my less than honorable…behavior. I won't ask for your forgiveness. I…I can't even forgive myself."

She sensed anguish in the final confession. "Is that all?"

He looked at her in some surprise. "No, to be honest, but to say more would be insensitive to your wishes."

She arched an eyebrow, and gave a bitter smile. "You would do well as a diplomat or lawyer. Tell me, what is this other thing you wish to say?"

Murtagh grinned uncomfortably, dismayed that she could perceive his ulterior motives. "Shall I just be up front?"

"Yes."

"I want to know of this mind defense of yours."

She glanced away from him for a moment. The last few days had filled her with doubt about his true character.

"Nefalia…please."

"It is not the most effective, nor the most efficient means of defending one's mind." She hoped to deter him.

"Perhaps it could be perfected."

She looked at him doubtfully. "It is only as perfect as one's ability to remain absolutely focused…and one's talent to deceive."

"Talent to deceive, you say?" Murtagh repeated as he seated himself in the same chair Galbatorix had inhabited hours before. "Please go on, my good lady."

"Don't be so cavalier with me."

"It seems to me you seldom see _cavalier_."

She gazed upon him scornfully.

He dropped the nonchalant façade. "One day we will speak under more favorable conditions."

"Perhaps we will if you can apply what I tell you."

"Then let's not waste any more time."

She seated herself on a nearby chair. It was far enough away from Murtagh for her comfort, but the distance was great enough that Murtagh had a difficult time hearing her voice. "Think about the concept of deceit."

"I'm familiar with it."

"This strategy is only as good as your creativity and your ability to remain focused."

"Most mind defenses revolve around that."

"Obviously, but my strategy goes a step further. A lie is the barrier. "

Murtagh leaned forward as inconspicuously as possible; he didn't dare move his chair towards her. The corners of her mouth angled upward. She was impressed and it gave her hope that he still possessed enough integrity to guide his actions.

"Instead of hiding everything behind some kind of mental block, you lay everything out. But you use a lie to cover up the areas you don't want someone to see. False memories cover the real ones. For example, our rendezvous this evening. To hide the fact that we saw each other, you would have to come up with a manufactured memory to conceal where you had spent your time. Where were you? Who were you with? What were you doing? What specific things did you see? What did you smell? What did you eat? When Galbatorix goes through your mind, he'll think he's seeing everything, but he'll see falsehoods. But it's difficult because it's mixing lies with the truth."

The more she explained her strategy, the more impressed he grew. His eyebrows came closer and closer together. It was an extremely complicated method of mental defense.

"How do you know how to do this?" Murtagh asked with wonder.

"Who do I live with?"

"He's not one to divulge this kind of information."

She smiled slyly. "It's called observational learning."

"But still…you figured this out on your own. _How_?"

"Well, yes, but, like I said, it has its imperfections. It's only as good as your ability to juggle multiple and detailed lies. It requires every ounce of concentration."

He watched her carefully. "Of course, I understand that. But you never answered my question about how you _know_ _it_."

"I've…been exposed to it," she offered vaguely.

She smiled wanly at Murtagh's apparent dissatisfaction and sighed. "I just became aware, over time, that he was infiltrating my mind. And I reflected…on that and tried to observe how he did it…or what he knew about it… whenever he was distracted."

"How did that work?"

"I…I carefully entered his mind briefly when he was…well…distracted. But I think there were a few times where he sensed me…or he thought he sensed me, but nothing ever came of it."

"But when is he ever distracted?" As soon as he asked the question, he thought of the answer.

A somber grin appeared on her face. "You forget what I am to him."

"How did you…come to live here?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Galbatorix was just doing what he does best. Taking without asking."

Murtagh wanted her to elaborate but he hated the idea of asking her more questions. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to.

She seemed to speak more to herself than to him, as if she were confessing a sin to a god. "He took me from my home…in the southern foothills of the Spine, just southwest of Leona Lake. It was shortly after you went missing about a year or so ago. He went looking for you, but found me instead."

_He went looking for me? Himself? _"I really had no idea he had any interest in women."

"Apparently it's one of his better kept secrets. But I wouldn't exactly call it an interest."

"A hobby?"

"No. I'm just…property. A means to an end." Her voice was sad and her face was downcast. "And the ends justify the means."

"What end would that be?"

She didn't reply. She was clutching her stomach with one hand while she tried to hide her face with the other.

"Nefalia?"

"I think you'd better go," she suggested suddenly. Her voice wavered with tension.

"Why? What's wrong?" Murtagh said, partly outraged.

"It would be best for both of us if you left right away." Her face expressed incredible pain.

"I'll send for the physician."

She shook her head emphatically as she swayed to and fro in her seat, hoping that it would some how ease the pain. "Galbatorix will come. He knows what to do. Now go!"

"Why? What would he know that a physician wouldn't?"

"Don't assume anything, Murtagh! Just go," she pleaded.

Frustrated, he rushed from Galbatorix's chambers. He wanted to stay to see if Nefalia's confidence in the king's arrival was true. Waiting was unnecessary; the sound of hurried footsteps sounded from the opposite end of the corridor. The footfalls hesitated for a fraction of a moment before disappearing into the royal chambers.

* * *

The following day Murtagh worked with Thorn. As they prepared to fly, Murtagh informed him of the events of the previous evening.

_You really think she's telling the truth?_ Thorn asked as they took off from the dragon roost.

_Sure._ Murtagh was trying to enjoy the rushing wind; he found it difficult to focus on practicing.

_It sounds complicated…like she made it up,_ said Thorn as he began working through routine maneuvers.

_She's not making it up._

_Oh. And how do you know? You admitted that she speaks of things that aren't known to most. While she might be aware of these things, which makes sense because of her standing with the king, it doesn't mean that she knows how any of it works. Murtagh, it just sounds like a fanciful story to draw you in._

_You're suggesting she has ulterior motives. _A feeling of dismay crept through him.

_Surely. She's a young woman being held against her will, supposedly, living with a considerably older man who happens to be a tyrannical king. And then you come along. You're kind of good, and you're kind of bad. I think most females are attracted to that combination…the tortured soul type._

Murtagh shook his head. _There's no way you could know this much about the human condition._

_Well, I don't think she's all that different from you. I think she finds her life rather dull and she's seeking some kind of thrill. And the only thrill she will find is going behind Galbatorix's back which can only manifest itself in seeing someone who is as young and fiery and handsome as you, and his apprentice no less. You're probably just an instrument of her revenge on Galbatorix._

_Your perception is disturbing, Thorn._

_I have to be this perceptive. I think you've given up on it yourself._

_Thorn...I think you're wrong about Nefalia, _said Murtagh, changing the subject._ I mean, sure, maybe she has ulterior motives for seeing me, but…._ Murtagh recalled the anguish and pain on her face as he left her. And her insistence that Galbatorix would come to her aide.

_Well…that oddifies things, _Thorn conceded after Murtagh had shared the memory with him. _So this is beyond thrill seeking. It's about--_

_Would you stop analyzing me for once?!_

A moment of silence passed between them.

_I trust you won't see her again,_ Thorn said.

_I never said that and I don't intend to._

Thorn made a sudden dive. _Don't involve yourself in the king's private affairs. Things are bad enough between you two._

_What about her?_

_Murtagh! She's--she's not yours to befriend or aide. True, her fate is regrettable, but there's nothing that anyone can do._

No further words were exchanged between them for the rest of the drill. But Murtagh reflected on Thorn's final words, feeling unsettled.


	8. A King's Futility

Nefalia had found her way to the bed and lay down. The pain had been so sudden and so sharp at first. But now it was a hot throb.

Waiting for Galbatorix was a paradox. She deeply resented him, but it was becoming cruelly apparent that she was dependent on him.

It had only been a moment or so when Galbatorix rushed into his chambers. If he was alarmed, he did not show it.

He glanced at her face and seemed to ascertain from there what was wrong. He placed his hands over her stomach, closed his eyes, and murmured a few indistinct words. The pain within her ebbed away.

Galbatorix leaned back and gave her what he thought might pass as a reassuring smile. "Nothing to worry about. Just a minor complication."

Her stony eyes stared at him, threatening to pierce him with her frustration.

Galbatorix smiled further. "My son already shows some signs of aggression."

"How can you call _it_ a son?" she muttered angrily.

Galbatorix's smile evaporated. "Speak again in that tone, and I'll see to it that you're _very_ uncomfortable."

Galbatorix leaned onto the bed, his muscled arms supporting the thick bulk of his chest. His robe of black silk and gold interweave matched the glitter in his eyes. She flinched. She desperately wanted to escape.

"Answer me this. Shall I never know an honest/kind heart in the breadth of my kingdom?" His tone was soft, but bitter.

She did not answer as she looked away.

"Is it too much to desire loyalty, pure and complete, from just one person?"

She still did not answer.

Galbatorix moved forward onto the bed, placing one knee onto the mattress. "Shall I never receive the affection of another apart from my faithful Shruikan?" He pressed in closer to her.

"You could have it if you would but earn it." She paused, waiting for him to silence her with a word or some physical gesture. When he did not, she proceeded quickly and quietly. "It is not too late for you to alter the course of the future… of your heart."

He knelt behind her. His fingers, hot and dry, wrapped themselves about her smooth shoulders. She could not restrain a shudder. "But it is, my dear. I have been slighted and betrayed time and time again by those I honored with my trust." He ran his hands down her arms, crawling like vines around a tree, and rested as loose shackles around her wrists.

"You betrayed their trust in you."

"Only a little." The words slithered out of his mouth. "I have lost too deeply in my time to love as you…" He left a soft kiss by her right ear. "Or the people of Alagaesia…" He kissed by her left ear. "Ask of me."

"I have spent years in a futile search…hoping to find the one woman who will meet my needs." He nuzzled his cheek against her own. His waxen skin pulled slightly on her face. "I have only ever wanted to share myself with another. Honestly. Intimately." He wrapped their arms around her, locking her to himself.

"What of your dragon?"

Galbatorix snickered softly as he immersed his nose in her fragrant hair. "Yes, what of Shruikan? He is but a dragon and I am but a man." He snickered again. "We cannot fulfill all of one another's needs and desires."

"If human companionship was all you ever wanted, then why all the brutality?"

"Brutality is all I have ever known." His breath was hot on her face.

"No. You loved once."

He turned her face to his, countenance darkened. "Yes." He paused. "You have a gift for perception I wish you did not possess."

"Your mind speaks, but your heart desires otherwise...to have another identify your secrets so you don't have to confess them."

He grinned solemnly at her, running his hands over her, feeling her, lingering over her stomach. A moment of silence passed between them.

"Do you love me?" he said in the softest of whispers, meant only for her ear.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She shook her head slightly. "No."

"But you must. I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your voice." He turned her around to face him. His hands locked her in place before him.

She shook herself from him. "You are preying on my heart."

"And you are tormenting mine…."He nuzzled across her cheek and down her neck. His lips brushed across the top of her shoulder. "Marry me," he murmured. He rested his head upon her shoulder so that his mouth was close to her ear. "I have tasted your compassion. Comply, dear one. Or must I resort to force?"

She was a long time in answering. Marla had suspected correctly and the reality of it brutally struck her.

"Love cannot be forced," she managed at last.

"It can. I must force it. I fear to lose what I hold most dear."

"That is not love."

"Not as you know it."

At length, she asked, "Then is it truly love that you feel for me?" Nefalia studied his face. His eyes no longer displayed the cold barricade. He was truly considering her words. She cupped her hands about his rugged face. A face that seen innumerable deaths and countless battles. He was so close to having a change of heart.

"If I were to concede, then I forfeit all that I have wrought and accomplished for something as fickle and erratic as love. I would be consumed by my enemies. Love would undo me."

"But you have just confessed to me that you desire love."

Unable to believe that Nefalia would show him such tenderness, he clasped her face in his scarred and rough hands, wanting to accept what he had forbidden himself. Yet he was in disbelief that she willingly touched him so lovingly. And he glowered at her, suddenly growing fearful and suspicious. "I had trusted you to remain solitary and absolutely mine. Don't think I have forgotten that you were in the arms of Murtagh!" he barked as he left the bed. He glowered at her. "You seduced him," he accused. "Just as you are seducing me now! I refuse to play your little game of manipulation."

"How can I manipulate you, a man of wisdom and wit?"

He stalked away from her.

"I have never been more honest."

He ignored her words "If you see him again or even mention his name in my presence, I will see to it that his misery will be greater than yours."

"Why his and not mine?"

"Because you are, at present, more valuable than he."

And King Galbatorix slammed the door on the matter and departed into the night.


	9. An Unforseen Event

At the middle watch of the night the door to Murtagh's chambers flung open with a crashing bang. Chips of stone from the wall impacted by the door rained to the floor.

Heart racing, Murtagh sprung from his bed. Seizing Zar'roc, he raised it in a defensive stance. His grip loosened against his will and the antique sword clanged to floor. He frantically sought to erect his mental barriers when a malignant chuckle filled Murtagh's ears.

"Excellent reflexes, Murtagh. Your dexterity rivals that of the elves."

Murtagh took in a deep breath and exhaled quickly. "King Galbatorix."

Galbatorix could have passed as a wraith in the weak light.

"I wanted to let you know that five of my servants have died."

"What? How? If you think--"

"It only happened a moment ago." The snarl upon the King's face was nightmarish. For a moment, Murtagh was convinced he was in the middle of one.

"You see I killed them because they were in the right place but at the wrong time. Now, why do you suppose that this unfortunate event occurred?" The king's voice began to waver slightly higher from the effort of restraining his temper.

"I—I--"

"Don't stammer at me, you fool! I received word that _Eragon_ has laid waste to Helgrind! He slaughtered my most effective and loyal servants!"

Murtagh shut his eyes and shook his head. Any moment now he would wake from this raving dream of lunacy.

"_WHY_ do you suppose that happened?!" Galbatorix had lost all restraint of his temper. "BECAUSE YOU'RE OUT-RIGHT DISOBEDIENCE! You LET HIM _GO_!! You should be out looking for that confounded scoundrel but you're busy _raping_ _my_ vassal!"

A force careened into Murtagh's back. He fell to the floor in a painful crash. His head instantly throbbed with the pain of making contact with the resistant floor. He kept his eyes tightly shut as tears of pain flooded his eyes.

_Murtagh!_ Thorn's concerned voice echoed painfully within his head.

Galbatorix stepped beside Murtagh. Murtagh could hear the creak of Galbatorix's stiff leather boots beside his ear. A stinging, prickly sensation overwhelmed his scalp as Galbatorix hauled him up to his knees by his hair. Nausea flooded Murtagh; Thorn's pain and raging desperation erupted into his senses.

"Don't hurt him," Murtagh pleaded. "It's not his fault; it's mine."

Galbatorix's composure restored itself to the usual twisted bitter sneer as he ignored Murtagh's pleas. "You'll go out tomorrow and directly bring back that fool-headed farmer boy and his pet dragon to Uru'Baen. Any resistance from you and you'll be no more than a puppet on a string. Do you want that?"

Murtagh remained silent. It was impossible for him not to cower and shudder in fear.

"At least your father was reasonable. He _chose_ to serve me. But you…you need a great deal more coercion. Please don't make me have to resort to dirty tricks. "

Rage bubbled within Murtagh's chest. Thorn's pain was not subsiding.

Galbatorix released his grip but continued to tower over his slave. Murtagh dropped his pounding head to his chest, breathing heavily.

"Yes, Murtagh. Channel that rage properly and you'll cast a shadow over your father's memory." He produced a cruel chuckle. "Loss is a powerful force. You can let it destroy you or you can master it. I mastered it. Will you? Can you?"


	10. Hope for the Future

Packing his knapsack took longer than usual.

The early morning light cast its warm golden rays over Murtagh's back and cluttered bed. His shadow fell jagged across the accessories that awaited placement within his bag. Zar'roc lay sheathed in the midst of the chaos. Its jeweled pommel captured the sun's rays before shooting red pricks of light about the room.

_Misery_, reflected the son of Morzan.

Murtagh reached for the sword. Its pommel had become familiar in his grasp, but he still pined for his old hand-and-a-half sword.

He unsheathed the beautiful deadly blade. It whispered slightly as it exited the sheath.

_Who will you kill next? A brother? A dragon? A king?_

The thought darted across his consciousness like lightning on the horizon. He shook his head, dismissing dangerous and melancholy thoughts. He sheathed the sword and belted it to his waist.

He turned to continue packing but he remained motionless. Nefalia's image floated across his mind. _I can't leave without knowing…._ He started for the door then halted. _I ought to finish packing first_.

Without consideration, he jumbled the rest of his belongings into the bag, slung it across his back and hurried out of his room.

"Just a moment, Murtagh, if you please."

Galbatorix's voice halted his steps as if he had actually run into a wall. Murtagh turned, summoning a blank face. "Yes, my king?"

"Return to your quarters." Galbatorix's face was unreadable. His tone polite, but stern.

Without ado, Murtagh did as he was asked. His pulse quickened.

Once inside, Murtagh set his pack upon the bed. As he turned to face Galbatorix, the king held out a dull looking gemstone. It was about the size of a fist and glowed with a dull, swirling light. "You nearly forgot."

Murtagh stared at the stone, a mixture of discomfort and relief crossing his eyes.

"Do I need to remind you of its significance? Of the fate that would befall you if you were to lose it?"

"No, my king."

Galbatorix placed the stone in Murtagh's hand. Murtagh shuddered at the contact.

Galbatorix withdrew a handsome leather sack and held its mouth open. Murtagh gently placed the warm uneven orb inside. The king pulled the drawstrings and handed the package back to Murtagh.

When Murtagh held it in a firm grasp, Galbatorix's hands slapped over his own, holding his arms and precious parcel firmly between them.

"I…am depending on you, Murtagh, to restore order and balance to Alagaesia. If I did not believe you could do this, then I would never have revealed to you what you hold in your hands."

Murtagh bowed his head and nodded slowly. "Yes, my king."

Galbatorix took Murtagh by the shoulders, his grip solid and immovable. "I know that…I have been exceptionally hard on you."

Murtagh raised his head, his eyes meeting Galbatorix's face. The King's expression was wavering between stoic indifference and emotions that Murtagh had never seen upon his visage.

"I have…flittered away the years searching for greatness…for prestige, power…solace. It has only brought me to a place of isolation that is difficult to describe. I've turned away from opportunities that would have afforded me peace of mind."

Murtagh shifted uncomfortably, indicating his inability to discern the king's intentions: a genuine confession or manipulation.

"Because I have chosen a path that has placed me in a position of absolute power, I find myself in a vulnerable position in which I must unceasingly defend. I have come to learn that it is nigh impossible for me to do so alone." Galbatorix paused as he rested his piercing gaze upon Murtagh.

"Your father was not just my greatest servant, but my confidant since the loss of myJarnunvost."

Murtagh shifted his gaze, attempting to deny his curiosity in what the king would say next.

"You know what it is, Murtagh, too lose a comrade."

Murtagh's mind immediately conjured memories of Tornac. "Aye, sire."

"Murtagh…I need you. Now more than ever."

Murtagh withdrew several steps from the king.

"I regret that I have not shown you the honor and respect you deserve. It is only right that you should defy me, for what have I done to earn your trust…your camaraderie?"

Murtagh watched the king with doubtful eyes but his shoulders slumped slightly. "Why should I listen to you? I've been taken in by your words before."

"My motives were insincere then, but now…now they are humiliatingly sincere."

Murtagh scowled.

"Murtagh, let me put it to you this way. I will never have peace of mind until I can amend myself for the atrocities I committed against the Riders of old. But I cannot even begin to do so as long as there are warring factions within and around the realm of Alagaesia. Help me to put out the flames of rebellion. Give me the chance they deny me: to erect an Alagaesia of grandeur. To found again the noble traditions and ruling of Dragon Riders. Don't you see? I want to restore what I have destroyed! I want to give back what I have taken!"

Murtagh's countenance faltered as he considered Galabatorix's words.

"Help me to end what I have started in my younger years. Help me to start anew."

Murtagh blinked. Galbatorix's contrary character was astounding. A longing to pledge himself to everything the king confessed swelled within his heart.

"Forget the past, Murtagh. Put it behind you. I have and I need you to help Alagaesia realize that the past is dead. It is time to move forward."

Murtagh ventured a gaze at the king. Galbatorix's eyes glowed with fervor within a face that was drawn up in a fit of desperate passion.


	11. Awaiting the Future

Night. No light pierced the thick moist air save for a few low burning sconces lighting the palace of Uru'Baen's more prominent and majestic features.

Murtagh followed a half-pace behind Galbatorix through dim desolate passageways to the dragon roost. He wanted to shift the weighty knapsack that was digging into his shoulder but he resisted the urge, fearing it would create too much noise in the stiflingly silent palace.

The two dark Riders gained the roost. Opening the doors, a gentle summer breeze cooled their sweating brows. Their capes billowed like a sail for an instant then fluttered back around their ankles.

Two members of the roost crew stood by Thorn, making the final touches of outfitting the dragon for flight.

Murtagh's confidant stride nearly crumpled into a shuffle. Thorn appeared larger though perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

As if reading his mind, Galbatorix commented. "He is maturing quickly, is he not?"

Thorn bobbed his head as a horse would, seeming to agree with the King's assertion.

"I remember what you told me, but I…"

"Didn't believe me?" finished Galbatorix proudly. He approached Thorn and the majestic beast bowed his head for the King to stroke.

Galbatorix removed the black leather gloves from his hands and passed them off to one of the crewmen. His fingers glided over the ruby scales with the surety of expertise and pride.

Galbatorix gazed into Thorn's gleaming eye. "You are truly magnificent, Thorn. Do not ever think otherwise," imparted the King. "Watch over my young rider and see that you bear him as though you were bearing me."

Thorn bowed his head and Galbatorix turned his gaze to Murtagh.

"The same goes for you, Murtagh, son of Morzan."

Murtagh bowed his head as he felt heat burn in his cheeks. From what emotion exactly, he did not know.

"A word, Murtagh," commanded the King as he strode out onto the open marble and obsidian trimmed platform that projected into the night.

Murtagh followed him with haste until they stood at the end of the platform, the breeze gliding over their skin and through their hair like a slow moving stream.

"I believe I do not need to reiterate what is at stake as I send you back into the world, do I?"

"No, sire."

"Good. Because freedom hangs in the balance, Murtagh. Yours. Mine." He chuckled malevolently. "Your brother's and the blue dragon's. And let's not leave out Alagaesia."

Murtagh thought of Nefalia. He had nearly shuffled the thought aside when the King made mention of it.

"Nefalia is a slave, Murtagh. Not all slaves don rags and sweep the halls of their masters."

"Then perhaps you should not speak of freedom."

"Freedom is for those who are not a slave. You are not a slave. Nor is everyone in Algaesia."

Murtagh, not desiring to debate, nodded his head. "As you wish, sire."

"Yes, indeed," muttered the king, his gaze suddenly fierce. "You will not mention her to anyone. As far as you know, she does not exist." Satisfied that his words and voice implied enough of a threat, the king turned back towards the palace. Murtagh followed.

"I want your brother here as soon as possible. If it takes longer, I must have him and the dragon before the year is out."

"Yes, sire."

"I do not wish to repeat myself, but it seems you need frequent reminders." He turned a piercing gaze upon him.

"Tonight will be the last time, I assure you, my King."

They approached Thorn, who was on the threshold of the platform, anxiously peering out into the open air. His whip like tongue zipped in and out to taste the air.

Murtagh mounted.

"This is your last chance to prove yourself, Murtagh. Thorn. Hold each other accountable to your mission and you will not fail."

Galbatorix's riveting eyes impaled the Rider and Dragon with determination, keen on bending them to his absolute will.

Murtagh bowed as low as he could in the saddle. "Yes my King. Thorn and I will not fail you."

An eyebrow arched ever so slightly on Galbatorix's stony visage. "I will hold you to your word."

* * *

Standing at the high windows of the King's chambers, she saw the brilliant red dragon fly from the palace into the inky sky. She struggled to forbid any thoughts of Murtagh from entering her mind.

"I am aware that I have condemned you to solitude."

Nefalia did not shift her gaze at Galbatorix's entry. She had been so lost in thought that she had not heard the door admit him.

"So I shall spend more time with you to compensate your desire for companionship."

She remained silent. He joined her at the window.

"You're not plotting your next coup again I hope?"

She turned to leave, but he seized her arm. "Is this acceptable behavior?"

She relented and kept her eyes downcast. Entering her view was a small crystal phial containing a dusky rose liquid.

"A gift," he said softly.

She raised her querying eyes to his.

"Your essence in a bottle." In a half smirk, he removed the crystal lid and held out the open bottle.

She accepted and smelled. The smell was the most fragrant of the other perfumes and oils he had provided for her. The rarest of flowers and the most delicate of fruits laced with magic to accentuate the scents finest features.

"There is no other perfume in the kingdom like it. I commissioned it for you alone."

"This is a gift of honor and affection. Why--"

"Did you not say that I had but to earn what I desire?"

His gaze was soul piercing. Its intensity and complexity held her in his power. "I did," she admitted as she averted her gaze from him. She wondered if he sensed her racing pulse.

He dabbed his finger over the mouth of the bottle. His finger glided over her collarbone and around her neck. The scent permeated the air around them.

"Again I propose my query. Will you wed me willingly?"

"My answer has not changed."

He cupped his hand behind her arm as a gesture of kindness and entrapment. "What must I do to make you happy?" he asked quietly but his voice was hard with impatience.

"You can never make me happy. It's beyond your power."

Rage filtered into his countenance and his hand clamped around her arm. "You would never have spoken thusly if it weren't for my child that you bear. You hide behind him as if he were a shield, you wretch."

"I only prove that you can't have everything."

"You prove nothing more than possessing an ill-tempered nature. I merely have to say one word and I can silence you, make you immobile, and subject you to suffering that you could never imagine."

"Then why do you hesitate?"

Galbatorix chuckled. "Because I enjoy watching you flounder in a world where you can exert no influence."

Nefalia released a small laugh. "Or perhaps because you like a little challenge…because it has become too easy to get what you want. Because what will you do after you have everything you want and you have crushed all opposition?"

"I'll never have everything I want." He smiled slyly. "You have proved that."

* * *

The damp cool air of a late summer's night caressed Murtagh's face and hair. The light of the setting moon doused the world in a pearly shimmer. Thorn's scales took on a violet sheen in the opalescent light.

_Anything yet, Thorn?_

_Nothing._

Relief and anxiety swirled within them.

_You'll stick to the plan this time, won't you? _Thorn asked after a moment.

_I have to._

They soared on in silence for another hour.

_Do you need to rest, Murtagh?_

_I want to, but…I don't think I'd be able to once we landed._

_We should rest now. We have a long day ahead tomorrow filled with unknown woes._

_Very well._ Both knew it was an excuse to stall their mission.

Thorn glided down to the quiet earth. A gentle wind passed through the tall grasses and shrubs dotting the ever-stretching plain.

_It's a burden, Thorn. Knowing what we know…it's almost too much power for one person._

_Almost?_

Murtagh relented with a small smile. _Very well. It is._

_And I still suspect we don't even know half as much as Galbatorix_.

_Agreed. I've only just begun to dig into the mine of magic. He's been at it for… a lifetime._

_But surely the elves know more than he shall ever learn. If only we had the opportunity to study with an elf._

Murtagh's face grew sour.

_Eragon_, guessed Thorn.

_I'm—I'm nearly as intimidated by him as the King. He's changed so very much since Tronjheim. Once it was I who was the elite fighter. Now…well now either we're equal or…. _Murtagh's pride halted the remainder of his speech.

Thorn sighed heavily. _I'll not soon forget the damage he inflicted on me._

_Nor I_.

_But let us not forget Galbatorix had studied with the elves once._

_Agreed, but that's no consolation._

The whisperings of the night filled the lull in their conversation.

_Thorn…do you think that there might still be a chance of escaping Galbatorix's yoke?_

Thorn's eyes dimmed with sadness. _If there is a way, then it is so thickly veiled to you and I that we may never know it but in dreams._

They were silent for a long while, both brooding on their misfortune.

_The other day I…I committed myself to…to overcome my father's reputation by exceeding him in…in his power._

_Power? Why not call it what it is? Evil._

_No. To do that would only serve to remind me that I know the difference between what is right…what is good and what is wrong…what is…evil. That I know the difference but can't choose. Because I think…Galbatorix truly believes that what he does…what he wants…and how he gets what he wants…is right._

_But he knew the difference once. He must still know._

_Perhaps, but I don't think he has ever looked back since the day he lost Jarnunvost. And I'm ready to stop looking back. I'm so tired of resisting him. It's futile. The hopelessness…it's unbearable._

Thorn nudged Murtagh gently with his warm muzzle.

_I mean, why not embrace the life that Galbatorix has chosen for us?_ Murtagh continued._ It holds the promise of stability, of glory…of—of—_

_A reputation that would invoke terror in most and adoration in a few?_

_So what if others feel terror? At least I wouldn't be living in terror for once. All I have to do, Thorn…all we have to do…is surrender to him and all our suffering would be over._

_Could you live with your conscience?_

_Galbatorix does. My father did. If they can, why not I?_

_I feel in my blood that I could not—_

_You could! _pressed Murtagh. _Dragons have the ability to choose just as much as any man. Other dragons chose to—_

_Chose?! They were forced. Shruikan himself did not even willingly submit to Galbatorix._

_But he never was able to escape the King's command. And now look what he has become. Instead of the hunted he is the hunter. Thorn, what kind of life would we have if we were always hunted? Always looking over our shoulder?_

Thorn bowed his head in silence. Murtagh sensed the turmoil within his companion.

_What about what Eragon suggested…taking our lives?_ Thorn said in a tone that pricked Murtagh's eyes with tears.

_That's __**not**__ an option, _Murtagh replied defensively, recoiling at the mere thought of slaying himself. _I want to live, Thorn. My life's been nearly taken from me more times than I care to count._

_Why live if you'll only be a miserable slave?_

_That's only one way of looking at it._

_That's despicable, Murtagh. You'll be someone you're not._

_So what?_ grumbled Murtagh. _I'd prefer that than having my freedom sucked from me._

Thorn prickled at his Rider's reply. _I'm hungry._ And Thorn took off into the night.

"The outcome is the same but at least _I'll_ be the one to choose it," Murtagh called after Thorn. The dragon made no reply.

Left alone to amuse himself, Murtagh summoned a small puddle of water from the ground. He attempted to scry Eragon but it was to avail. He gritted his teeth and muttered a curse under his breath. He gazed a moment into the blank rippling surface of the water. He said the words that would allow him to scry Nefalia. To his surprise, it worked.

Nefalia was sleeping soundly in the king's bed, alone. Her countenance, he saw with displeasure, was one of muted sorrow. As he studied her, he pondered his fascination…his feelings for her. Part of him wanted to be cruel to her; the other desired to protect and comfort her.

"At least I'm forbidden to visit her," he mumbled to himself in an attempt to allay his unease. But he knew he was capable of finding ways around Galbatorix's wishes.

Murtagh released the image of her and let the ground reclaim its water.

Laying down, he stared up into the night sky. The light of the moon drowned out most of the stars. Loneliness settled upon him. His face became drawn into one of despair.

"Mother…why didn't you save me?" he whispered unto the impassive sky. Tears began to surface but he shut his eyes tight, forbidding them to surface. "Father…why weren't you stronger against…" His throat constricted, unable to say the name of the man who had corrupted his father and all of Alagaesia.


	12. Pursuit

Nefalia examined her profile in the towering mirror that graced one of the walls of Galbatorix's bed chamber. Her silken dress hugged her uncomfortably across the chest and abdomen. The sight filled her with despair.

In the beginning she thought she had only been gaining weight. It was a plausible explanation and a comforting one to a short extent. But now, staring at her reflection, and considering the nausea that accompanied her in the morning, she couldn't deny that her pregnancy was moving at a much swifter pace than was natural.

Her gaze landed on the necklace. She touched it. It felt warm but she wondered whether it emanated from the stone or if it only reflected her own body heat. Daily, Galbatorix took it in his hand and each time he released it, a little prick of heat startled her, but she had always dismissed her suspicions that he was using magic.

The chamber door burst open as Galbatorix strode in, scattering Nefalia's thoughts. He smiled when he saw that she scurried away from the reflecting glass.

"I suppose you're in need of a new wardrobe." His smug face turned her depressed spirits to a quiet, smoldering rage. "You should have told me earlier. There's no need for you to be uncomfortable."

"It has barely been a month since you…."

"Since I what?" he asked sharply. "You make it sound as if this has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you." The familiar infuriating smirk was upon his face. "I can't help it if you conceived."

"You did something."

"Yes." His eyes gleamed deviously.

"You said something that night. Under your breath. In words I didn't understand." She made herself maintain a level gaze with her jailer. The King's lips curled sinisterly; his gaze withered her confidence. She continued, struggling to suppress her overwhelming sense of trepidation. "I shouldn't be showing this much after only a month."

"Are you insinuating, 'Falia, that I used magic?"

"Yes." She sickened.

"Does it matter? You're alive. You're in good health--"

"Don't be cavalier with me. I know you--"

"Cavalier?" His smile vanished as he sauntered to her. The room was silent save for the soft tread of his leather boots across the marble floor. "Cavalier about _my_ son? _My_ creation?" A chuckle erupted from him.

"Then tell me what you did that night," she insisted, her own voice darkening with anger. "I believe I ought to know since—"

"That night I…oh how should I put it? Achieved something I've been scheming about for years."

"Please don't be cryptic. You can't possibly want a child. You'd see one as a threat to your throne!"

"Would you like to retract that accusation?"

He watched her, his piercing gaze surveying her with condescension. "'Falia, 'Falia…you're telling me things about myself I already know."

He approached her. She remained rooted where she was, determined not to be afraid. As he took the stone of her necklace in hand, the tips of fingers brushed over her skin. She could not restrain a shudder. He chuckled lightly at her obvious fear.

He muttered a several indistinct words. Still holding the stone, he gazed into her nearly trembling face. "You will be the mother of a new Alagaesia. You should be proud."

Her blood pounded through her ears at those words. It wasn't so much the words the words he had used because she had deduced that much, but it was the expression upon his face and the tenor of his voice that filled her with crushing dread. He was boasting about some private triumph.

He went to the door. "I'll go see about obtaining a wardrobe that will better suit you." Passing through the door, he began to do something she seldom heard and doubted that anyone had ever witnessed perhaps since his days in Ellesmera. Galbatorix began to sing. And she was sorry to realize that he possessed exceptional talent.

* * *

Helgrind was a nasty place. The dry air shimmered red with the swirling dust of the semi-arid environment. Folklore claimed the dirt was eternally stained from centuries of human and animal sacrifices.

The dust laden wind carried with it a scent akin to sulfur, believed to originate from the crags and crevices of Helgrind's rocky formation, the refuge place of the Ra'zac, Dras Leona's monstrous but all too familiar neighbors.

Murtagh followed a hobbling local priest through this putrid landscape. The priest tripped upon his sandals with almost every step. Missing several toes on the account of his stingy sacrifices, his balance had been compromised and was doubly so now in the presence of the Empire's dreaded young Dragon Rider.

Thorn swaggered beside him, swaying his head to and fro from time to time, scanning the landscape.

Sensing his companion's hunger, Murtagh reached into his knapsack and tossed Thorn a rabbit he had purchased from a village on the outskirts of Dras Leona. Thorn snapped his jaws and swallowed the rabbit whole, not bothering to chew the pathetic morsel.

_This rapid growth has made you ravenous_.

_I try not to think of that_, replied the dragon, a tremor of unease lying beneath his words.

Murtagh turned his attention back to the gangly priest.

"Are you absolutely certain no one saw a dragon?"

"Yes, Master Rider," the priest insisted in a voice as dry and gritty as the dust surrounding them. He nodded his pock-marked head so that it resembled, in Murtagh's mind, a cork bobbing along on water.

Murtagh narrowed his eyes. "No one saw anything?"

"Not true," said the priest, his tone of voice bordering on pride. "Members of the city guard saw someone climbing down and then run off into the plains at great speed."

"Yes, yes! I know someone was sighted, but what else?"

"Doe his majesty suspect the elves have infiltrated the empire?" The priest bowed his head suddenly, realizing he had spoken too avidly.

"Listen, priest," Murtagh snapped, his patience thin from the stinking, baking heat and the assiduous nature of his mission, "you are not in a place to ask questions."

Murtagh brushed passed him. Thorn followed suit but snapped his jaws at the priest. The priest hopped in fright and crashed to his hands and knees. Thorn broke into his version of a laugh.

"_Thorn!_" Murtagh called, looking over his shoulder. "_We are ambassadors of King Galbatorix to Dras-Leona. A little respect, please, if you will._"

Thorn snorted thin streams of smoke and rushed to his master's side, the end of his tail swishing in agitation through the air.

The priest picked himself up and hurried after them, the jagged black pinnacle towering before them all.

* * *

The stench of the Ra'zac's roost still lingered in his nostrils as he descended down the rock-face's semi-apparent path that trailed down alongside Helgrind's near vertical exterior.

"He was sighted right about there, where you stand!" called the Priest from the jagged opening above Murtagh.

"And a blue dragon?" called Murtagh over his shoulder.

"No! Nothing like that! Just a man jumping down the slopes of Helgrind!"

Murtagh shook his head. "Impossible! There's evidence in that chamber of a dragon!"

"No one saw a dragon!" shouted the priest.

Murtagh peered over a precipice, the sudden dead-end of the path he had followed. Turning around, he looked back over where he had come, hoping some clue would stand out to him. Nothing but disturbed bits of rock.

_What do you think?_ Murtagh called out to Thorn as he looked back over the precipice again. He saw a narrow cliff over ten feet below. Could Eragon have jumped that far?

Thump!

"OW!" Murtagh's hand raced to the back of his head as a thumb-sized rock bounced off him.

_You're pathetic. I'm ashamed you're my Rider._

Murtagh shot his gaze upward. Thorn was perched atop the summit of Helgrind where he beamed down a snarling smile.

_I couldn't resist_. Thorn's lips revealed more teeth in a widening grin.

_You foul, loathsome beast._

_At least one of us is…._

_What's brought on this obnoxious behavior? I'm trying to work--_

Thorn sighed. _Once again my Rider displays how little he knows me? If I may enlighten your ignorance, I am hungry and I am bored. A dangerous combination, especially seeing as the priest, though filthy, will serve to remedy my displeasure._

Thorn punctuated his thoughts with a slithering tongue that licked his chops.

_So go eat the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka._

Murtagh removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.

Thorn let out a rumbling growl. _I do not dine on carrion._

_You ate the rabbit_, Murtagh pointed out half-heartedly. He wasn't interested in an argument at the moment.

_Give me another one of your rabbits and __**you**__ eat the foul, fly-infested pestilence._

_Come down here Thorn. I need you, _Murtagh commanded, ignoring his dragon's retort.

Thorn soared off the summit and glided down to Murtagh, taking delight in denying his rider expediency. When the dragon was close enough, Murtagh leapt onto his steed.

"You're not leaving me here? Alone? Are you?" cried the priest after them. He darted his gaze over his shoulder as if the Ra'zac were about to spring upon him.

"You'll manage without us!" shouted Murtagh. "The Ra'zac seemed to be dead!" Turning to Thorn with a chuckle he said, "Take me to that outcropping just below."

Murtagh didn't need to study the cliff closely to see that it had received a mighty blow from above. From there, Murtagh could see the somewhat erratic trail of damaged and disturbed rock. He shook his head. _I don't understand it._

_What is 'it?'_ queried the dragon to his rider.

_These leaps from cliff to cliff…they weren't made by a dragon, which implies that Eragon did. Yet it's clear there was a dragon inside Helgrind. I'm certain his dragon was here but where she went…and why? _Murtagh looked back at the disturbed rock face. _I don't know how he could have made these jumps without…killing himself._

A strange wave of hope and worry washed over him.

Thorn snickered. _Maybe he did. Then it's one down, one to go._

They reached the edge of Helgrind's base and skimmed over the ground, looking for a body or evidence of tracks.

_If he lived to escape Helgrind, he would have been on the verge of death unless he ate something or….Stop! Land! Land!_

Thorn swooped down quickly. Murtagh was already out of the saddle and slid down Thorn's leg upon landing.

"It wouldn't have been obvious if you were searching on foot, but from above you can see that the surrounding vegetation is dead!" He laughed as a wave of hopeful enthusiasm filled him. He rushed from shrub to shrub, feeling its brittle and darkened leaves. "He drained life out of the surrounding plants."

_He wasn't alone._

"What? How do you mean…" He hurried back to Thorn, who was sniffing the ground.

_I smell Eragon and another. Clearly a long-time resident of Helgrind._

"Katrina," Murtagh voiced quietly.

Thorn shook his head. _Male, by the scent of it_.

Murtagh's brow furrowed as he gazed upon Thorn. "Well then who…oh what does it matter. He never could say no to helping some poor sack of bones."

Thorn turned his snout to the air, sniffing and tasting.

Murtagh turned his attention to the ground. He saw a set of human tracks that led off to the south. "He ran from here…alone by the look of it…but why? Where was…."

_A revelation?_ Thorn asked upon sensing something akin to jubilation in Murtagh.

_Katrina. Of course! He put __**her**__ on Saphira._

_Who is this Katrina?_

Murtagh waved his arm at Thorn. "She's Eragon's cousin's wench." After he said it, he kicked the dirt, sending a small red plume up into the air. "They're headed for the Varden most likely. And they probably reached them already."

_What would Galbatorix need this female for?_

_Bait? A bargaining chip? Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter because we've got to restore her to Galbatorix._

Murtagh swung himself unto Thorn. _Fly south._

Thorn lifted into the air. _When will you report our findings to Galbatorix?_

_Once we find Eragon, which should be easy. If he's without Saphira, he'll be vulnerable._

_Galbatorix will be pleased, but will you?_

Murtagh flinched. _Of course. I'll be in the King's good graces once more._

_Don't tell me you're not conflicted_, Thorn accused.

_Conflict or no, what choice have we?_

Dragon and Rider glided southward. As the sun set, the air cooled and with it, Murtagh's zeal for accomplishing Galbatorix's orders.


End file.
